Living in the New World
by crispyone
Summary: Name Change! Used to be Hermione-G-Weasley, now going by crispyone. This story starts where OOTP left off. The world has changed now, and things will never be the same. Relationships are changing, friendships are wavering. Can everyone cope in the Ne
1. The New World

A/N:  Well, here's the start of another long haul.  I wrote "When Things Start to Change" with the full intention of finishing it, but OOTP beat me to it.  I just didn't feel right about continuing.  I'm also writing under a new name.  I want to keep Hermione-G-Weasley as pre-OOTP fiction and crispyone as post-OOTP.    
  
This story will have a darker tone overall, but, of course, there will still be plenty of fluff in it, which is always good.  J

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the characters discussed in this story, nor do I own any of the locations.  They are all property of J.K. Rowling.  
  
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The sun was so bright that Hermione Granger was forced to close the blinds on her bedroom window.  England had _never been this hot before; it hadn't rained a single time since she'd been home from term.  She had no clue where this insane weather was coming from, but she was wishing very hard for time to rush forward quickly, so she could get back to a nice, freezing cold Scotland winter.  _

But, of course, that wasn't going to happen.

She'd been home for three and a half weeks now, and she couldn't remember time ever going so slowly; it seemed as if three _years _had passed since she'd last seen Hogwarts.  And she was simply dying of boredom.

Not that she didn't enjoy being at home with her parents, but she couldn't lie and say that Muggle life wasn't a bit dull comparedto the life she lived for ten months out of each year- the life of a teenage witch at a boarding school for other young witches and wizards.  All she wanted now was for the next five weeks to hurry up, so that she could get back to that part of her life quickly.

She knew that school was going to be different this year than it had in the past; this year was going to be covered by a heavy veil of solemnity and a foreboding of fright that wouldn't be felt for no good reason.

The Darkest wizard in the world was back to full power, and now everyone in the wizarding world knew it.  She couldn't pretend that school was going to be anything close to what it used to be; the normally fun atmosphere of Hogwarts was probably going to be replaced by things much less enjoyable.

Still, though, she was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts simply because she felt at home there.  It _was _her home; those were the people who were like her.  She didn't feel like an outsider at Hogwarts, and she had friends at Hogwarts.

Friends that she missed.

She'd had the same best friends since her first year at Hogwarts, and she missed them terribly as she did any summer when they were apart.  However, this year it was almost worse because one of them was barely speaking to her.  

Harry Potter was considered by many to be the hero of the wizarding world. When he was just a baby, his parents had been killed by a curse that had moments later been aimed at him.  The Darkest wizard of his time, Lord Voldemort, tried in vain to kill Harry and only succeeded in sending himself back into hiding for thirteen years after the curse rebounded off of Harry and hit Voldemort instead.  Now, though, Voldemort was back, and Harry was in more danger than ever.  Not only that, but his godfather Sirius, the closest thing to a parent he'd ever known, had been murdered just a month ago, sending Harry into the deepest of depression.

He was writing, but his letters were short and nondescript.  He seemed incredibly distant and didn't seem to want to communicate very much.  He'd written once that he was being allowed to use the telephone, but he hadn't once phoned her even though she knew that he had her number.  Luckily, though, she had expected as much.

At the end of the school term, Harry had started putting as much space between himself and his friends as possible.  Hermione hadn't blamed him; it wasn't really as though she or their other best friend, Ron Weasley, could empathize with him very much.  They were sad, too, that Sirius had died, but he hadn't been their godfather, and _they still had both of their parents.  Harry probably felt as if they didn't understand, and truthfully, they didn't._

Ron, on the other hand, was writing her more often than he normally did.  She suspected that this had more to do with him being bored than it did with anything else.  He normally spent much of his summer writing to Harry, but Harry had apparently cut him off as well, and he had taken to writing Hermione instead.  It wasn't as if she minded hearing from Ron, though; on the contrary, she enjoyed his letters immensely.  As much as he was a prat, he was extremely hilarious, and even his written words had the potential to make her laugh.

Hermione pushed aside the book she was trying to read, finding it far too boring to keep her attention.  Sighing, she stood up and started pacing her room, trying to find something to do.  Her parents were still at work, and she didn't have a clue as to when they'd be back.

A letter caught her attention, and she picked it up and read it for what was probably the millionth time.  A smile played on her lips despite her already sullen mood; she couldn't help but be pleased every time she saw the words.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_     It is with great pride that we send the result of Ordinary Wizarding Levels.  Please take these marks into consideration as you plan the rest of your wizarding education.  Your school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will be contacting you soon with a suggested schedule.  _

_     The grading scale for the Ordinary Wizarding Levels is as follows:  O- Outstanding, E- Exceeds Expectations, A- Acceptable, P- Poor, D- Dreadful, and T- Troll.  Please keep in mind that all scored of O, E, or A are considered passing._

_     Your scores are listed below._

_Ancient Runes- O_

_Arithmancy- O_

_Astronomy- O_

_Care of Magical Creatures- O_

_Charms- O_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts- O_

_Herbology- O_

_History of Magic- O_

_Potions- O_

_Transfiguration- O_

_     Your total number of O.W.L.s scored is ten._

_Sincerely,_

_The Federation of National Wizarding Examinations_

She'd received straight Os and had, therefore, exceeded any and all hopes that she had possibly had.  The exams had been horribly strenuous, but she had finished them feeling overall strongly about her performance; she was a bit worried about a few of them and certainly hadn't expected to receive nothing but Os, but she was pleased beyond belief.

Her Head of House and Hogwarts adviser had sent her a letter two days after the receipt of her scores.  Professor McGonagall had seemed overly pleased with the results as well and had praised Hermione immensely, stating that she had never had a student receive perfect scoring with that many attempted O.W.L.s.  But since Hermione had still not decided on a career, her professor hadn't been able to set a suggested schedule.  Hermione didn't care, though; she had planned on continuing with all of her subjects anyway.

She had, of course, written to Harry and Ron right away to get their scores, and though she'd been a bit apprehensive about their results, she had been overall happy with theirs as well.  They'd each done pretty well on the whole.

Harry had received a P in Astronomy, but Hermione wasn't surprised as they had witnessed the arrest of Hagrid and the stunning of Professor McGonagall that night.  His Care of Magical Creatures score was better; he'd received an E.  Charms had also gained him an E, and he had received an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  The only subject he'd attempted that she hadn't was Divination, and he had, as expected, failed that O.W.L with a D.    He'd managed to pull an A in Herbology, but had failed History of Magic with a P; Hermione had expected as much, though, because he'd fainted in the middle of the exam and left the hall before finishing.  His most surprising score by far, though, was his Potions one; somehow, none of them had yet figured it out, he had managed to pull an O on the exam.  This was shocking, of course, because he'd barely scraped by in the subject ever since their first year.  His Transfiguration score was also quite good; he'd received an E and seemed quite pleased about it.  His grand total of O.W.L.s was six, and though that didn't match Hermione's ten, it was still quite good.

Ron's scores, though, had surprised her greatly.  His Astronomy score had ended up being A, despite the interruption of the night.  Care of Magical Creatures and Charms had both earned him Es.  Defense Against the Dark Arts had earned him an E, but he, too, had failed the Divination exam with a P.  He'd gotten an E in Herbology and had managed to get an A in History of Magic even though he had never once listened to Professor Binns and even though Harry had caused such worry during the examination.  Somehow, he, too, had gotten an O in Potions, which had shocked him so much that he said he dropped the letter with the results when he saw it.  And while Transfiguration had never been his strongest subject, he'd studied enough to get an E.  His grand total of O.W.L.s earned came out to eight.

Hermione couldn't help but feel proud at the results of her best friends; she knew they were smart, and she'd been telling them so for five years.  It was because she knew they had such potential that she constantly bugged them about studying and nagged them about their lack of motivation.  

She groaned as the full heat of the day set in upon her.  Even in the confines of her air-conditioned bedroom, she was still burning up.  It had to be the hottest day _ever, and she went over to her closet to find something cooler than the jeans and t-shirt she was currently wearing.  Pulling out a tank top and a pair of shorts, she started shedding her clothes to change.  But as she pulled her shirt over her head, she stopped and stared into the closet mirror._

"Why won't it go away?" she whispered to herself, fingering the large purplish bruise that was still evident on her lower abdomen.  She frowned and winced slightly at her own touch.

Her mother had spotted the bruise when Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch one afternoon, and her shirt had risen up just enough to display the mark.  When she asked about it, though, Hermione had lied and said she'd gotten the bruise after tripping over her trunk and landing hard on the corner.  She certainly hadn't told her the truth- that the bruise was the result of a Death Eater's hex that had knocked her out cold for several hours.  And she _definitely hadn't told her mother that the hex had occurred just minutes after one of the Death Eater's mates had sent the Killing Curse at her and just narrowly missed.  _

She was, after all, anything but stupid.

No, she remembered perfectly how her parents had reacted after she'd spent the last part of her second year Petrified.  Her father had flat out refused to let her return to Hogwarts, and no amount of pleading changed his mind.  Hermione had even pitched what was probably only the third temper tantrum of her life, but it had resulted in nothing except getting her grounded for a month.  And even her mum, who usually defended her and sided with her, stood firm with her father in his insistence that Hogwarts was not a safe place for her.  She'd written a tear-stained letter to Ron, begging him for help, and he'd gotten his father to brave the telephone long enough to speak with her own dad and assure him that Hogwarts was perfectly safe and that the monster that had attacked his daughter was very much dead.  Finally, they had given in and agreed to let her return.

She hadn't mentioned a single even _slightly dangerous event since._

Not wanting to look at the reminder of that night back in June, she tugged the tank top on and slid into the denim shorts.  Her hair was already tugged into a ponytail because she couldn't even bare to think of what it would like with all the humidity and her sweating like she was.

Suddenly, though, a tiny little furball zoomed to her window and started pecking at it incessantly.  She recognized it immediately and hurried over to let it in, heaving her heavy window up and shutting it after the tiny owl flew in and started fluttering around her bedroom madly.

"Pig!" she said firmly, diving for it just as it made a zoom for her bedroom door.  Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, was hooting fondly as he tried to cuddle underneath Hermione's chin after she caught him and started tugging at the letter it was clutching.  The writing on the envelope, though, wasn't Ron's- it was his sister's, Ginny's.

Hermione opened the letter, already knowing what it was about.  Ginny only ever wrote about one thing- _boys._

Hermione had listened to _Harry, Harry, Harry for years while Ginny was suffering from her massive, one-sided crush on the Boy-Who-Lived, and she'd been forced to take in every possible detail of Ginny's first real boyfriend, Michael Corner.  Now, she was rattling on about Dean Thomas.  Hermione still had to stifle a giggle every time she thought about Ron's expression when Ginny had informed him that she was dating one of his roommates._

Still, though, Hermione was having a bit of trouble imagining Ginny and Dean together- not that she didn't understand why Ginny liked Dean, though.  He was fairly smart and funny and nice and quite cute.  There were lots of boys like that at Hogwarts; the problem was, though, that they all liked girls who looked like Ginny Weasley.

Ginny was gorgeous, to say the very least.  She had a long, thick sheet of straight red hair that hung well past her shoulders.  She was still very petite and small, but her small frame didn't do anything except make her cuter.  She had milky white skin that Hermione had never seen have so much as a single spot, and a sprinkle of freckles covered the bridge of her nose and settled on the tops of her cheeks.  And she had the _hugest _brown eyes, too, and not the dull average brown like Hermione's but a deep dark chocolate brown.

Of course, Hermione considered everything about herself quite average.  She had average brown eyes and average brown hair (even if it was a bit... well, big).  She was average height, and she considered her body just average, too.  Even though she was nearly sixteen, she still hadn't developed some of the curves that most of her classmates had come into a few years ago.  She was pretty much just thin and flat.  

And boys didn't like average.

Even Harry and Ron, who she would have liked to think weren't that superficial, had proved her wrong and shown themselves as being completely blinded by beauty.  Harry had spent three years drooling over Cho Chang, who was, as a vast understatement, beautiful; he'd been completely taken with her even though he'd never even had a real conversation with her.  However, when he had gotten up his courage to actually talk (and do a bit more than talk) with Cho, he'd realized that they didn't have any real connection at all.  And Ron was even worse- he'd made a _complete _prat out of himself when they were in fourth year, asking some stupid, French, half-Veela to the Yule Ball.  And where was that Veela at now?  Shacked up in a London flat with Ron's oldest brother; Hermione thought it was quite humorous actually.

But what could really expect from teenage boys?

She focused her attention back on the letter and unfolded the parchment.  Rolling her eyes, she saw that she had been exactly right in her prediction that Ginny was writing about boys.

_'Dean invited me to a Muggle football match next week.  I don't know anything about it!  Help!'_

Well, it wasn't as if sports was one of her area of expertise, but Hermione got out her own writing supplies and started a letter back, trying very hard to remember as much about the rules as she could.

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For the first time ever, Ron Weasley was outnumbered by females.

His father was working so much overtime these days that Ron often wondered why he hadn't just set up a camp bed at the office and started sleeping there; after all, he came home so late at night anyway and left right after breakfast each morning.  And none of his brothers were at home, either.  Bill had just started renting a flat in London, and he had a new 'roommate' that he hadn't yet introduced to the family; new roommate must be code for much younger, gorgeous French half-Veela.  Charlie was still in Romania, apparently with a new girlfriend of his own, a fellow dragon trainer from Spain named Luisa.  As for Percy, well, he'd had no choice but to acknowledge the fact that You-Know-Who was back, but he'd made no effort whatsoever to reconcile with his family, and Ron personally hoped he never did because as far as he was concerned, they were all much better off without that stupid prat.  The twins were gone now, too, having done exceptionally well with their joke shop and now able to afford just about anything they wanted.  They were renting a flat in Diagon Alley, just a block away from their store; Ron reckoned it was pretty good that they'd moved out because they're mum _still _wasn't too pleased with the fact that they'd simply flown out of school without finishing.

So, now it was just Ron and his mother and his only sister, Ginny.

And it was completely bloody annoying!

He'd had just about enough of being the only male around; it just wasn't natural for him to be the only boy.  He'd grown up in a house that had the ratio of seven to two, and now it was two to one.  It just wasn't fair!

The worst thing of all, though, was the fact that his mother had now decided he could take care of _all the manual labor, leaving him with more chores than could possibly be considered fair.  It was stupid, of course, because Ginny could do all the same things; she could throw a gnome as far as any of her brothers, and she could just as easily yank up the overgrown weeds as Ron could.  But his mother didn't seem to be of the same opinion; instead, Ginny was spending her time inside, pretending to be interested  in the new recipes their mum was so keen to teach her and acting as though she actually enjoyed learning how to knit._

It was a lie, of course, and Ginny knew that Ron was onto her faking as well as she knew it herself.  But it wouldn't have done any good at all to blow her cover because Ginny would just accuse him of lying and proclaim that she couldn't possibly think of a better way to spend the summer than learning how to take care of the house; she was quite a good actress when it came to fooling their parents.  But Ron knew the truth; the only reason she was pretending to be interested in those things was so that she could stay inside instead of out in the blazing hot sun that had suddenly decided to take residence over England.  

Ron decided just one thing as he picked up a particularly wrinkly gnome and hurled it over the garden wall:  He was perfectly sick of women.

Well, that was if he was going to consider Ginny a woman, which he definitely wasn't.  Because she was just a little girl, a little girl who definitely wasn't snogging older boys or taking invitations to Muggle football matches from them, either.

Stupid Dean Thomas.

And what the hell was that about anyway?  Dean Thomas, oh, come on.  Well, at least he was better than Michael Corner, but that wasn't saying much.  Dean had plenty of flaws himself, even if he wasn't a right shady bloke like ol' Corner was.  Dean's marks were okay, but he goofed off a lot in class; it was very difficult for him to take things seriously in any situation.  And he was just downright obsessed with Muggle football, so, of course, he had written inviting Ginny along to a match, knowing fully well that she probably didn't know anything about the sport.

When did Ginny get so old anyway?  Okay, so she was eleven months younger than him, but eleven months was a lot.  She was still too young to be running around with boys, and she was _definitely too young to be doing anything else.  And if he ever saw anything else, well, Dean Thomas better just hope he was able to outrun a very upset older brother._

And not only was Ginny spending her summer lying to their mother, running off to Muggle sporting events with people she called her _boyfriend, _no, she was also so moody that Ron didn't know how he was going to make it through the summer without murdering her.  What was with girls and their mood swings, anyway?  It was like they could go from happy to angry to blubbering with the drop of a hat.  

And Ginny wasn't even anything compared to Hermione.

Hermione was perhaps the moodiest person on the planet.  One minute, she was happy and smiling, and then the next she was screaming her head off and bursting into tears; it was insane, really.  Why couldn't girls just be normal?

Of course, Hermione had never been the _easiest _girl to deal with.  She was incredibly bossy and somewhat of a know-it-all, and it was also very easy for her to get far too carried away with outrageous schemes.  There were times when he _really _didn't like her (mostly when she was calling him the _'most insensitive wart she'd ever had the displeasure of meeting' _or when she was writing huge, novel-length letters to grumpy Bulgarian prats), but she was okay most the time.  And sometimes, she was even better than okay.

"Want some help?"  

Ron looked up just in time to see Ginny strolling up with a butterbeer and looking extremely at ease.  He sneered at her.

"What's the matter?  Run out of older blokes to write to?"

"Shut up, Ron," she said lazily.  She balanced the bottle between her teeth and bent down to grasp a giggling gnome by its ears and spun around for good leverage before sending it flying a good forty feet over the fence.  "Not bad," she commended herself as she lowered the bottle.

"Yeah, so you can count that as your one real chore of the summer," said Ron with a shrug.

Ginny pursed her lips.  "Excuse me, but you must think it's all fun and games what I'm doing."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Well, you're wrong," she said briskly.  "Mum is just a bit mad when it comes to cooking, and if I hear, _'You're stirring it the wrong way, Virginia!' one more time, I'm going to strangle her!"  _

"Well, then perhaps you ought to tell her that you don't really enjoy it as much as you've been letting on."

"What?  And spend all day out here with you?  I don't think so."  She took a sip of her butterbeer and offered it out to him.  He took it and finished it in one drink.

"Has Dad come home at all?"  Ron chucked the bottle to the side and lunged for another gnome.

Ginny shook her head.  "No, but he popped in through the fire for a second.  I don't know what he wanted, though, because Mum made me leave the kitchen."

Ron frowned.  "Why're they always sending us out whenever they want to talk?  I mean, it's not like we don't know what's going on."

"Well, maybe we don't really," said Ginny with a shrug.  "You know Mum doesn't want us to know anything the Order's doing because she thinks we're too young."

"Not for long," he answered resolutely.  "I've only got eight months until I'm seventeen, and then they can't keep _anything from me."_

To his surprise, though, Ginny just laughed and plopped herself onto the garden ground.  "You're completely crazy if you think that's going to change anything.  Mum is still going to find a way to keep you out."

"She couldn't with Fred and George," he said firmly, giving up momentarily on the degnoming and joining her in the grass.  "And I'm already way more involved than they were."

"Exactly the reason she'll find a way to keep you out."  She picked at a blade of grass and glanced up, squinting in the bright sunlight.  "Mum's already worried out of her mind about you as it is, so there's no way in hell she's just going to give up and let you get in even more danger than you're already in."

"She can't stop me.  She can't keep acting like I'm ten years old."

"Perhaps if you stopped behaving like you were..."

Ron glared at her, but she just beamed sweetly.

"Oh, you know perfectly well that Mummy isn't going to let her precious ickle Ronniekins hear anything his little ears can't handle."

He didn't break the glare.  "Shove it, Ginny before I shove it for you."

"That might be painful."

Ron was just about to retort with something quite rude when their mother's voice drifted toward them from the direction of the house.  "Ron, Ginny!  Come inside!"

Ron, thankful for a chance to drop the degnoming, jumped to his feet and headed off toward the Burrow with his sister hurrying along behind.  It was blistering hot, and the sun was bearing down on them even more brutally than it had been in the slight shade of the garden, and he was thankful for the coolness of the house when he entered through the back door.  

"Shut the door, shut the door," said his mum briskly.  "You're letting the cool out."

Ginny shut the door and slid into place beside Ron.  "Is lunch ready?"

"Yes, no thanks to you."  She handed them both plates and shooed them toward the table.  "I could have used your help, Ginny," she said disapprovingly, sitting down with them.

Ginny looked up sheepishly from her sandwich and offered an apologetic smile.  "Sorry, Mum, I was helping Ron."

Ron resisted the urge to remind her that her 'help' included a single gnome and a bunch of talking.  Instead, he took a drink of lemonade and attempted to slip in a sly question.  "Is Dad coming home for lunch?"

"No."  His mother took a small bite of her own sandwich and answered curtly.  "He's very busy."

"Ginny said he called earlier."

"He did."  That was as far as her answer went.

Ron wanted to ask more, but a loud hooting interrupted him, and a tiny, fluttering ball of fur burst in through the open window and started soaring around the room.

"Oh, somebody control that bird!"  His mum had long ago lost her patience for a lot of things, Pigwidgeon being one of them.

Ron stood on his chair and snatched Pig just as he flew by his head.  He wrapped his hands tightly around the tiny bird's neck and tore the letter from its grasp.  He jumped off his chair and shoved a few crumbs of bread crust toward Pig before sitting back down and looking at the letter.

He recognized Hermione's handwriting, but it wasn't addressed to him.  "It's for you," he handed the letter over to Ginny and tried very hard to ignore the disappointment that he felt at not being the intended recipient.

Ginny tore open the seal and started reading immediately.  A grin spread over her face that made Ron quite curious as to what was so amusing.  

"What did Hermione write you?"

"Recognize her handwriting, do you?"  Ginny glanced at him over the parchment.  "Well, I expect you would, as I'm sure you copy off of her enough."

Ron looked immediately at his mother, who was staring at him with an expectant look.  "I don't!" he said defensively.  It was the truth, he didn't copy off of her nearly _enough.  "And anyway, why's she writing you?"_

"Maybe because she likes me, you prat."

Ron wanted very much to slap her, but he somehow didn't think he would get away with that when his mum was sitting right across the table.  

Oddly enough, though, Ginny finished the answer to his question anyway.  "I asked her to tell me about football."

"What's so funny about that?"

"Well," said Ginny snickering, "she's telling me what she can remember of the rules from primary school.  I was just trying to picture her playing."

The visual of Hermione playing _any sport was quite hard to imagine, but Ron got a sudden image in his head of her playing Quidditch in her Hogwarts uniform.  Blinking a couple of times to get the picture out of his mind, he hastened to change the subject.  "So, Mum, did Dad say when the next meeting of the Order is?"_

"It's none of your concern if he did."   

"Well, when are we going back to Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't know if we are," she said sharply.  "So, stop worrying about it."

Ron rolled his eyes, but he knew well enough to stop when he was ahead.  His mother had a very short fuse lately, and she was very likely to start shouting at him relentlessly if he pushed her too far.  But he still couldn't understand what the big deal was; Sirius had left Grimmauld Place to Lupin, and Lupin had agreed to keep it as the headquarters, but so far, it seemed as if there were very little going on with the Order; at least Ron wasn't aware of it if there was.  Still, though, he couldn't resist just one final question.

"Well, did Dad have _anything important to say when you talked to him?"_

"Yes!" she said, suddenly fiercely and standing up.  "He said for _you _to shut up and stop being so nosy!"  She glared at him and stomped off toward the sink where she dropped her sink and then left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Ron and Ginny shared a silent look of confusion.

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**_Ministry Official Dismissed; More Facing Inquiries_**

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_Kingsley Shacklebolt, long-time respected Auror, has been dismissed from his position with the Ministry of Magic after an extensive investigation into his performance._

_Shacklebolt has been employeed with the Aurors for eighteen years, and he was placed in charge of the team assigned to track down and recapture escaped murderer Sirius Black.  Black escaped from Azkaban three years ago after serving twelve years of his lifetime sentence; believed to be in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Black has been one of the Aurors main priorities, and Shacklebolt headed up the team responsible for his recapture._

_However, after a spectacular turn of events last month which resulted in Black's demise and the reappearance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Shacklebolt was put under investigation by the Ministry.  He was found guilty of being involved in a secret organization called 'The Order of the Phoenix.'  'The Order of Phoenix' is comprised of several witches and wizards and is believed to have been formed as a direct opposition to the Ministry.  Not only was Shacklebolt a member of this secret organization, he was also working side-by-side with Sirius Black the entire time he was supposed to be working on the recapture of the prisoner.  _

_Shacklebolt was dismissed from his position yesterday and is possibly facing other charges, including but not limited to treason._

_Shacklebolt was not the only Ministry employee found to be involved in 'The Order of the Phoenix,' and there are now others facing inquiries that will quite possibly lead to investigations.  Another member of the Aurors, twenty-eight year old Nymphadora Tonks, has admitted to being involved with the group and has openly agreed to her proceeding inquiry.  Another Ministry employee, Mr. Arthur Weasley, head of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, has also openly admitted to being a member of the group._

_When asked about the possibility of his dismissal and other charges, Weasley seemed quite passive.  "The charge of treason is ludicrous," he said vindictively to a group of reporters yesterday afternoon after being informed of Kingsley's dismissal.  "The definition of treason is to trade secrets to the enemy.  None of us have traded any of the Ministry's secret because none of us believe or have any interest in anything that the Ministry has to say about the return of You-Know-Who."_

_The other members of 'The Order of the Phoenix' have yet to be formally identified, but Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, admits to having his suspicions.  "Yes, we definitely have an idea of who else is involved with this abomination of insubordination, but we have no control over the occupations of anyone not employed by the Ministry.  We at the Ministry, though, would like to express our complete and total outrage at the blatant discourse, which was clearly the main intention of this 'Order of the Phoenix.' "_

"Bloody wonderful!"  Harry Potter stared in disgust at the copy of _The Daily Prophet _in front of him for a moment before chucking it across the room in a fit of many rage.

The stupid Ministry was shoving their nose in where it didn't belong, and people were losing their jobs because of it!  Not just any people, either- Kingsley, who had sacrificed so much for the Order and done Sirius such an honorable favor by keeping his secret.  And Tonks, who didn't even have the benefit of a long career behind her.  And Mr. Weasley!

Mr. Weasley, who had given Harry food from his table, a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head on countless occasions.  Mr. Weasley, who was probably the hardest working person in the world and probably one of the very few who cared so much for his family that he would put in countless hours working just to support them.

And now what good had any of it done him?

He was going to be investigated, probably lose his job, and maybe even have formal charges brought against him.  It was just one more thing to add to the already long list of things Harry was blaming himself for.

He got up and started pacing his bedroom, finally stopping beside his small window and peering out at the street below.  It looked exactly as it had for years, each house the same as the next, each yard perfectly groomed, each car equally expensive.  He scowled and wondered when his uncle would be back from work.  Aunt Petunia was downstairs, and Dudley had run off to meet some of his mates for 'afternoon tea,' but Uncle Vernon was still at work.  Harry wondered vaguely if he'd somehow struck and important deal, perhaps sold an extra large shipment of drills.  

Things weren't as bad at Privet Drive as they had been before.  His relatives were still anything but nice to him, but they weren't all that horrible, either.  Harry knew, of course, that this was all due to the fact that they were probably very scared of one Mad-Eye Moody, but it didn't matter.  If they were tolerable, things weren't quite so miserable.

Bypassing the discarded newspaper that he'd just flung across the room, he walked over to his trunk and pulled it open.  He still hadn't completely unpacked from Hogwarts and wasn't really planning on doing so anytime soon.  It was almost useless, as he would just have to pack it right back up before too long anyway.  He dropped to his knees and started rummaging through it for something to do to get his mind off of everything.  His copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages was buried underneath a large pile of wrinkled school shirts that he had hastily thrown into his trunk in way of packing at the end of the term, so he pulled it out with the intent of reading it for what could possibly be the thousandth time.  _

However, just as he sat down at his desk, a loud pecking drew his attention, and he looked over at his window to see an unfamiliar owl beating its beak against the pane.  Not knowing whose bird it was, Harry got up and opened his window; the owl soared in and sat obediently on the back post of his bed.  The letter it was carrying was addressed to him in writing that he didn't recognize, so, as his curiosity got the best of him, he removed it from the owl's talons and slit open the scroll.  

_Hello,_

_     You're probably wondering how I got your address, aren't you?  Ginny Weasley told me where you lived, though I am pretty sure she only did so to get me to stop writing to her.  I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to tell you that my father wants to give you a free subscription to _The Quibbler.  _You made him a lot of money with that interview, and he says it's only polite to return the favor._

_     We've recently gone on holiday to Sweden with the money Daddy made selling your interview to _The Daily Prophet.  _We didn't catch any Crumple-Horned Snoracks, but we did meet a woman who claims she had a whole herd of Dinkleplums.  Dad is going to feature her in next month's issue.  It was just a shame that she didn't have them anymore, but they don't have very long life spans, of course._

_     We also visited my mother, well her gravesite, anyway.  I don't get to go very often, as she is buried far away, but it is always nice to visit when I can.  It makes my father sad, though, but I find it quite uplifting actually.  I'm sure you know what I mean._

_     Well, that's really all I had to say, and if you want to write me back, you can.  If you don't want to, though, that's okay; I'll understand.  Please give Sonar an owl treat, though, because she gets very moody if she isn't rewarded for her work._

_     Say hello to your friends for me._

_Sincerely,_

_     Luna Lovegood_

Harry stared at the letter for a moment after he finished it.  

He certainly hadn't expected Luna to write him over the summer, but he found that he wasn't at all bothered that she had sought him out.  He wondered, though, if Ginny really had given Luna his address just so she wouldn't write to her anymore.  He doubted it because Ginny had seemed to grow quite fond of Luna towards the end of the year.

He had no idea what Dinkleplums were, but he wasn't at all surprised that the entire herd had 'died' out.  Grinning despite himself, he read the letter again.

The other thing that really caught his eye was Luna talking about visiting her mother's gravesite.  He was surprised that he himself had never wondered about where his parents were buried.  He wondered if visiting their gravesites would make him depressed or if he would, as Luna, find it uplifting.  

_He wondered who would know where they were buried._

In a sudden fit of curiosity, he got up from his place on the bed and headed for his bedroom door, tossing a few treats to Luna's owl and closing his window so it couldn't leave.  Then he went downstairs.

He entered the living room where his aunt was dusting and wondered briefly if he were completely mad.  She was busy and probably wouldn't want to be bothered by his question.

She probably wouldn't answer anyway.

But he wanted to know, suddenly found that he _needed _to know.  And he stood silently, waiting for his aunt to notice his presence.

Finally, she turned around and started at the sight of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry gathered up his Gryffindor courage and prepared himself.  "I just wanted to ask you something."

"I'm busy," she said shortly, holding up the dust rag as proof.

He almost nodded and turned around to leave but stopped himself.  "It'll only take a second, though."

"Oh, what is it?" she asked, clearly irritated at his interruption.

The question suddenly sounded very stupid in his head; asking Aunt Petunia sounded even stupider, but he knew that he would regret it if he didn't ask her when he had the chance.  "Do you know where my parents are buried?"

She stared at him, obviously quite surprised that he had dared to do the one thing she'd always fussed at him about- asked a question about his parents.  He realized she wasn't going to answer, but she shocked him in the next second and briskly said, "Up north somewhere, I suppose," and turned back around to resume dusting.

"But you don't know exactly where, do you?"

"How would I?" she asked sharply, spinning back around with an irritated look on her pointed face.  "It's not as if your mother and I were on best of terms when she got herself killed."

There was something about her tone, something about the way she'd said, 'got herself killed' that made Harry suddenly angry.  In a tone he realized could fairly be considered smart-aleck, he said, "Why not?  Because she married my dad?"

Aunt Petunia glared at him for a moment and then answered in her signature pinched voice.  "That wasn't even the half of it.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I am busy."

"So you hated her because she was a witch?" he asked daringly, not at all deterred by her threatening look.  He wasn't afraid of her; he was no longer the tiny boy she'd once bullied, and he wasn't scared of her anymore.  

"You be quiet!" she said fiercely, glancing around as if the whole neighborhood had suddenly crowded into her living room and were waitingbreathlessly to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Did you hate her from the first day she got her Hogwarts letter?"  He stared back at her unblinkingly, demanding an answer with his stance.

"Hush!" she said again loudly.  "Now go away."

He didn't move.

"I said _go!"  She pointed to the door warningly._

He wanted to continue his questioning, but he realized that there was no way she was going to say anything else.  With a hateful glance at his aunt, he spun around and started to stalk about of the room.  At the last second, though, he heard her sigh and say very, very quietly, "She didn't exactly like me, either."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly.  His aunt was now facing him with somewhat of a defeated look on her face.  He had never seen her look so... well, he wasn't exactly sure what it was, but it was something he'd never imagined seeing on Aunt Petunia's face.

It was clear that she was waiting for him to continue the conversation, and he wanted to say something highly inquisitive since this was possibly going to be the only chance he ever had to ask questions like this of her, but all he came up with was, "But why did you hate each other so much?"

"We didn't _hate each other," she said primly, pursing her lips slightly.  "She was my sister.  I didn't _hate _her."_

Harry could hardly believe that this was happening, that his aunt was actually talking about his mother without referring to her as a freak.  He couldn't believe that she was actually taking time to answer _his questions after spending fifteen years pretending he didn't exist._

"We were just very different," she said simply with the air of someone who was explaining something quite uncomplicated.  "That's all."

"Because she was a witch, and you weren't."

"We were very different before she even knew that," answered Aunt Petunia briskly.  "We always were."

"She was older than you, wasn't she?"  Harry couldn't remember ever speaking to his aunt without something of contempt in his tone, but now he was just amazed that this was actually happening, and he wanted to know everything he could because he was quite sure she wasn't going to continue talking for very long.

"Just by a year.  But yes, she was older."

"And you _never liked each other?"_

"I didn't say that," she frowned.  "I said we were different."

"But how were you different?"  Harry took a step closer to her and perched himself on the armrest of the sofa, surprised when she didn't scold him immediately and demand that he get off.

Instead, though, she just looked toward the window and hesitated a moment, as if she were gathering her thoughts.  Finally, though, she looked back to him and spoke very quietly; it was almost as if she was getting lost in her memories.  "She was never much of a girl, even when we were very young.  She always preferred climbing trees and catching frogs to playing with dolls, and I wasn't like that at all.  She used to get irritated with me because I wouldn't want to play outside, and I would feel the same whenever she insisted on bringing some horrid insect to my tea parties."  Aunt Petunia frowned slightly and said, "We just never had much in common.  She would get in lots of trouble at school, and I was very quiet and cautious."  Harry couldn't imagine his aunt being anything close to quiet and cautious, but he listened intently anyway.  "But even though she caused all that trouble and spent all her time outside, our parents still thought she was magnificent."

Harry had the sudden image of his aunt being overshadowed by her older sister- sort of like Ron, in a way.  He watched as her battle with herself showed through her features.  

"It was always _Lily this, and Lily that.  She was a troublemaker with a smart mouth, and everyone still thought she was perfect."_

Harry wanted to be upset that Aunt Petunia had just referred to his mother as a troublemaker with a smart mouth, but remembering Snape's pensieve, he realized that anything he had previously imagined his parents to be probably wasn't correct.  His mother probably _had _been a troublemaker with a smart mouth.

"But what about you?"  Harry looked over at her as he quietly asked the question.  He wasn't sure where it had come from.

She stopped and stared at him.  "What about me?" she asked, clearly a bit confused by his query.

"Well, what did people think about you?"  He anticipated her blow-up right then, but to his surprise, she just paused and seemed to be considering the question.

"_I was the good one," she said earnestly, pointing a finger to her chest.  "__I was the one that never caused any trouble at school.  _I _was the quiet, polite one."  She frowned.  "But what did it get me?"_

Harry knew that she was asking the question more to herself than she was to him; she certainly wasn't expecting an answer.

And suddenly, she didn't want to talk anymore. 

"I'm busy," she said sniffily, clutching her dust rag tightly.  "Now get out of my way."

Harry watched her silently for a moment more and somehow knew not to press the subject any further.  He left the living room and wandered back upstairs to his room where he got out parchment and a quill.  He was going to write Luna back.

And he was going to find out _everything about his parents._

***********************************************

Well, there you have the first chapter of my new story.  I hope you guys enjoyed it and want to read more because there's lots more to come!  J

  
As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	2. Those Who Lead Us

A/N:  Thank you to those who left feedback for the first chapter.  It means so much.

  
Disclaimer:  I don't own any of them.

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Homework was not something Ron normally enjoyed.

  
Okay, he _never _enjoyed it, but that was no excuse to push it off when he could be working on it now.  After all, he was a Prefect, and as such, he was supposed to be setting a good example for the other students.  Not that any of them could see him doing his homework early, of course, except for Ginny who really didn't count anyway, but it was still a nice, mature thing to do.

Hermione would be proud.

Charms was one of his more liked subjects; it certainly didn't bore him to death like History of Magic or befuddle him like Transfiguration or make him physically ill like Divination or cause him to cringe like Potions.  No, Charms was placed on the same level with Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts- still work and quite tedious occasionally but not quite so horrible.  Professor Flitwick had assigned a summer essay on the illegal uses of Summoning Charms for anyone who was going to be enrolling in his N.E.W.T. class for the coming year, and Ron had, on a whim, decided to get an early start.

However, he hadn't gotten any further than the heading of his parchment when his bedroom door swung open without warning.

"I know why Mum's in such a foul mood."

Ginny stormed into his room without bothering to wait for permission.  She was clutching a newspaper in a tight fist as she stomped across his hardwood floor and flung herself face down onto his bed.

He stared at her silently for a long moment, waiting to see if she was going to give any sort of explanation for her sudden appearance.  When she didn't, he simply turned around slowly in his desk chair and faced her motionless form.  "Do you happen to know how to knock?" he asked calmly.

Without even raising her head, she offered a rather muffled reply of, "It doesn't matter because you aren't even going to _have _a door pretty soon."

"What are you on about?"

Wordlessly, Ginny raised the arm that was still clutching the newspaper and held it out to him.  Ron took it, completely confused, as he was quite under the assumption that they weren't even taking _The Daily Prophet _anymore.  Not knowing what his she was being so melodramatic about, Ron unfolded the newspaper and stared down at the main headline.

_"Ministry Official Dismissed; More Facing Inquiries."_

He read the article that followed silently, taking in the news slowly, barely able to comprehend it at all.  Kingsley had lost his job, and Ron's own father appeared to be next in line...  

"Is this for real?" he demanded, brandishing the paper in front of him as he spoke.

Ginny finally pushed herself onto her knees and sat up to face him.  "Yes, look, it's from yesterday."  She leaned forward and pointed to the date at the top of the paper.  "I found it in the bin when I was dumping some scraps."

Ron stared down at it for another moment.  "But I didn't even think we got the paper anymore."

  
Ginny shrugged.  "I don't know.  Maybe Dad brought it home from work last night."  She reached out and retrieved it from him, looking down at the headline again as if she hadn't seen it before.  "But apparently they weren't planning on letting us know anytime soon..."

Ron's brow furrowed on its own accord.  He was so bloody sick of being kept in the dark!  "Why wouldn't they tell us?" he demanded, suddenly quite angry.

"Because they're assholes!" Ginny exclaimed; her face was set seriously into a look of disgust.  "I mean, god, what are we?  Six?"

He certainly hadn't been expecting her to be so brash about the subject, but he found himself agreeing with her explanation.  Their parents really were assholes.

"And what if Dad _does _lose his job?" Ginny continued desperately.  "We'll all probably starve to death!"

Ron knew that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he couldn't help but feel angry for a few selfish reasons.  After all, his mother had promised him all new school things this year now that they only had to buy for him and Ginny, but if his dad was jobless, they wouldn't even be able to afford tuition, much less new supplies.  

"This is ridiculous!" Ron said, not realizing how loud his voice was going to be.  "I'm sick and tired of being treated like some damn baby!"

"Me, too!" Ginny interjected just as loudly.  "Because think about it, if we were still little, and it was Bill and Charlie who were fifteen and sixteen, _they _wouldn't be left out of anything!"

Ron stared at his sister, somewhat shocked at how completely right she was.  He hadn't thought of that before, but it was true- when Bill and Charlie and even Percy had been their ages, they'd been privy to any important news that the family was facing.  

"It's just because we're the youngest!" he said furiously.

Ginny leapt to her knees, a determined glint glittering in her brown eyes.  "Yes!  And that's not fair!"

"No, it's not!"

"We've got to do something about it!"

"Yes, we do!"

And then, after such a strong outburst, the two youngest Weasley siblings stared at each other silently.  For a moment, it was as if they were starting a new revolution or something, but then, just as quickly as it had started, their enthusiasm dwindled.  They both knew there was no hope in getting their point across to their parents.

"Should we ask Mum what's really going on?" Ginny asked in a considerably quieter tone.  

Ron pursed his lips thoughtfully and then shook his head.  "No, because she's already pissy enough.  And if she found out we'd been snooping, she'd probably slap us it."

Ginny nodded, a frown playing on her lips.  Then she seemed to brighten slightly.  "Well, should we ask Dad?"

Ron sighed and thought over the prospect.  Their father was definitely the calmer of their parents, but they'd both witnessed him lose his temper a fair few times over the years and it certainly wasn't a pretty sight.  "No, he might start acting just like Mum."

"We should ask Bill," Ginny nodded at her own statement.

But Ron shook his head.  "Bill's not going to tell us anything that Mum and Dad won't.  And by the time we got a letter to Charlie, we could already be homeless."

"And we can't ask Percy, obviously," said Ginny with a look of distaste on her face.  "Because he'd probably say it would serve Dad right or something."  
  
Ron nodded, and the siblings sat in silence for another long moment until they both looked up at each other and came to a simultaneous conclusion.

"Fred and George."

Ron frowned as soon as the words left his mouth.  "But I _hate _asking them stuff.  They always act so smug when they know something we don't."

Ginny shrugged.  "Well, what choice have we got?"

"None, I suppose," he said dejectedly.  "But we have to wait until Pig gets back from Harry's."  He'd sent his owl away that morning with a letter of what he hoped was routine normalcy to his best friend.  

Ginny, though, shook her head.  "Why can't we just go to Diagon Alley and see them?"

"Do you really think Mum's just going to say, _'Okay, have a nice day,' _without any sort of explanation?"  Ron rolled his eyes.  "And we certainly can't tell her why we want to visit them."

"What?  Are we not allowed to just _want _to visit our brothers?"

"Not those brothers," Ron said firmly.  "If it was Bill, maybe she'd buy it, but Mum's not thick enough to think we want to voluntarily subject ourselves to visiting the twins."

Ginny looked quite offended.  "I happen to _like _Fred and George," she said indignantly.

"I know, Ginny, and that's what worries me."

"Oh, shut up."  She stood up and walked out of his room.  For a moment, Ron thought she'd gotten seriously angry at him and had stormed out, but she returned a few moments later looking quite uplifted.  

"We're in luck," she told him proudly.  "Mum's taking a nap downstairs, so we can sneak away using Floo without her knowing."

It was a good plan with one major flaw.  "And if she wakes up?"

"We'll leave her a note, so she won't worry."  Ginny shrugged.  "And then I guess we'll just get in trouble when we get back."

Ron wasn't entirely keen on the whole idea of _'Oh, well, I guess we'll just get in trouble when we get back' _like his sister was, but he also knew that he would somehow end up getting in much more trouble than she would if they did get caught.  It wouldn't matter that the whole plan had been Ginny's; it would somehow be his fault.

However, there really didn't seem to be any other options.  If they wanted the truth about what was happening at the Ministry, they'd have to ask someone.  And the twins were, sadly, their best bet.

*********************************************************

Hermione had always loved Diagon Alley.  Each time she visited the small wizarding community, she couldn't help but be enthralled by the vast array of different shops and all the witches and wizards hurrying along down the narrow streets.  It had been here on Diagon Alley that she had gotten her first real idea of what the wizarding world might be like, way back when she was just an excited ten year old between two extremely nervous parents.

Her mum was with her now, and while she wasn't quite as twitchy and nerve-wracked as she'd been all those years before, she still regarded the other people around her carefully and was always sure to stay out of their way. 

  
It had been a spur of the moment decision to come to Diagon Alley this afternoon.  Her mother had been coming to London anyway to meet briefly with a few other dentists and discuss a possible partnership, which would inevitably move her parents' work to the city for a few days each week.  Normally, Hermione would have rather clawed her eyeballs out than sit through something as boring as what she liked to term _'teeth talk,' _but her mother had offered to take her shopping if she went along.  

  
And so they had arrived in Diagon Alley.

Hermione knew well enough that when her mother had offered to take her shopping, she was thinking more along the lines of Harrods and Fortnum & Mason, but she hadn't specified.  Besides, Diagon Alley was a _much _more valuable source of shopping than any of the London department stores.  

"Do you need new school robes?" her mother asked as they walked past _Madam Malkin's.  _

Hermione thought about the set she'd ruined the night Sirius had died.  Between almost being eaten by a great lot of centaurs and almost being killed by a few vicious Death Eater's, her uniform hadn't stood a chance.  Still, though, she had plenty of school shirts and skirts; she certainly hadn't outgrown any of her clothes in the last couple of years.  

"No, I'm okay," she said, glancing in through the window of the robe shop just in case she happened to see anything that she might end up needing.  The store appeared to be filled with the same old assortment of robes as ever, though, so she kept walking.

She looked ahead and saw that _Flourish and Blotts _seemed to be having some sort of sidewalk sale, and she was just about to hurry over to it when she stopped short at the sight of the newest store on the street.

_Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes._

Hermione bit back a grin at the glistening sign that stood between a magical antique shop and a second-hand pawn shop.  From the looks of it, the new store was quite popular, as there were large groups of people bustling into the store eagerly and leaving with their hands full of packages.

"Mum, I want to stop in here real fast," she said, looking up at the double-storied shop.  Her mother eyed the store oddly but followed her in nonetheless.  

Hermione stepped into the store and was immediately shocked at how bright it was inside, not to mention crowded.  She was still disapproved of the way Fred and George had simply flown out of school without bothering to take their tests or finish, but she couldn't help but be pleased that they were apparently doing so well with their joke shop.

"May I help you find something?"  A pretty woman with short blonde hair approached them; Hermione noticed that she was wearing a black t-shirt that was baring the name of the shop in glittering silver letters and happened to be about two sizes too small.  Glancing around, she noticed that all of the employees happened to be very attractive young women with bright smiles and too-small shirts.  

"No, thank you," said Hermione, forcing herself not to roll her eyes at her observation.  "We're just-"

"Hermione!"  

She jumped slightly as Fred materialized out of the thin air directly in front of her.  She still wasn't used to the twins Apparating, and her mother looked completely startled.    
  


"Lovely to see you, darling!" he said in a very posh accent before turning around and yelling in his normal southern tone, "Hey, George!  Look who it is!"

Hermione looked up toward the second landing balcony and just spotted George before he disappeared and reappeared right beside his brother.  

"Hermione Granger!"  George reached out and engulfed in her in an entirely over exaggerated hug as if he hadn't just seen her a few weeks before.  When he released her, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So, what brings you to our humble store?"  Fred gestured around at the store, which looked anything but humble.  "Come to buy some special school supplies for next year?"

"No, actually-"  But she was cut off again.

"Now, Fred," said George smoothly.  "She's a _Prefect.  _We don't want to hinder her chances at making Head Girl, now do we?"

Hermione glared at him.

"Oh, now.  Even prefects are allowed to have a bit of fun from time to time, aren't they?" Fred said, brandishing a perfect smile at her mother.  "You must be so proud of your daughter, Mrs. Granger.  I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced."

"Mum, this is Fred and George," she swung her head from one to the other.  "Ron's brothers."

"Yes, our dear little brother is quite taken with sweet Hermione," said George impishly, winking at Hermione, who felt her cheeks heat up instantly.

"Of course, we can't really blame him.  She is such an adorable young woman.  No doubt she gets it from her lovely mother," George added with a dazzling smile identical to his twin's.

Hermione glanced at her mum and frowned at the way she seemed to be falling for George's obvious flattery.  Honestly.

"And she probably gets that brilliant brain of hers from you, too," added Fred.  "You must be brimming with pride."

"Her father and I are very proud, yes," her mother answered, smiling fondly at the twins.

"As well you should be."  Fred beamed at Hermione.  "We heard about your O.W.L. results- straight Os in every attempted subject!  You've beaten Percy's record!"

Hermione blushed again, though this time for a different reason.

"And you even managed to pull a few passing grades out of Ron.  That in itself proves you're a genius!"  Both twins chucked.  Hermione frowned.

"No, it doesn't.  Ron got those marks because he's smart.  I didn't take his tests for him, now did I?"

"Relax, Hermione," said Fred, holding up his hands.  "We know our perfect little Prefect brother is smart.  It skips every other one, see.  Bill was smart, Charlie liked Quidditch.  Percy was smart, we liked Quidditch.  Now, Ron _likes _Quidditch, but he's a bit hopeless, isn't he?  So, we'll let him do the smart thing and leave the Quidditch to Ginny."

"He's _not _hopeless," Hermione said just a bit too forcefully.  "He won Gryffindor the Cup, didn't he?  He just couldn't do his best with you two there teasing him all the time."

Fred and George exchanged horrible knowing smirks.  It was terribly infuriating, and Hermione fought down the urge to hex those smirks right off their faces.  Luckily, George changed the subject.

"Did you want to purchase anything, Hermione?"  He glanced around the crowded store.  "We have very good discounts for close old friends."

"Close old friends, nothing!" Fred said indignantly and reached out to squeeze Hermione's shoulders.  "Hermione, you're like _family _to us!  We'll give you the Weasley-Buy-One-Get-One-Free discount."

"How generous," she muttered sarcastically.  "But no, thank you.  I just wanted to see the store."

"Well, allow us to give you the grand tour," said Fred slyly.  "Refreshments?"  Before Hermione could blink, he had conjured a plate out of thin air and was offering it out.  "Would you like a biscuit, Mrs. Granger?"

To Hermione's horror, her mother actually reached toward the plate.  "Why, yes, thank you."  
  


"No!"  Hermione grabbed her mom's arm and stopped her from taking a cookie.  She glared at the twins and hissed, "Don't you even dare!"

"Hermione!" said her mother in shock.  "That's a bit rude, don't you think?"

"No," she said firmly, still eyeing the twins warningly.  "Don't eat or touch _anything."_

"Oh, posh," said George dismissively.  "There's nothing harmful about them."  He waved his hand toward the biscuits.  "Do you honestly think we would give something dangerous to the woman who could quite possibly end up being our favorite little brother's mother-in-law?"

Hermione was going to kill them.

Her face was already blazing, but she was determined to look unabashed by the twins' remarks.  She carefully avoided her mother's gaze, so that she wouldn't get all motherly-nosy and start prying.  Especially when there was nothing to pry into.  Fred and George were just relentless.  They'd apparently been teasing Ron for years and had taken to including her in their torments the previous summer when they'd all been staying at Grimmauld Place.  They just couldn't seem to grasp the concept of _just friends, _which made Hermione wonder just how well they really knew Angelina, Alicia, and Katie.

Hermione struggled to think up a quick comeback, but nothing was coming to her.  And then, of course, the only thing that could have _possibly _made the situation even more awkward happened.

Ron walked into the store, followed closely by Ginny.

Hermione wanted to die on-spot and visibly cringed at the identical looks of delight that took over Fred and George's faces.  "Fate!" exclaimed Fred gleefully.

Hermione turned toward the entrance and saw both Ron and Ginny hesitate slightly upon spotting her; apparently, neither of them had been expecting to see her, just as she hadn't expected to see either of them.  After getting over their initial shock, however, the two youngest Weasleys crossed the store to where the others were standing.

"What're you doing here?"  Ron stared at her curiously.

It wasn't exactly the enthusiastic greeting she'd been hoping to receive the next time they met up, but she quickly pushed that thought aside, refusing to acknowledge that she _had _thought about what greeting she would have liked to receive from him.  Instead, she just plastered a smile on her face and prayed to whatever god still liked her (after the whole being a witch thing, she wasn't so sure any of them still wanted her) that she wasn't giving the twins even more ammunition to tease them with.  "We were just in London shopping, and I wanted to see the store," she said nonchalantly.

"Oh."  Ron glanced at her mother and forced a polite smile on his face.  "Hi, Mrs. Granger."

Hermione knew that her mother had always been rather fond of Ron, even if she hadn't ever had the chance to really get to know him.  She always rambled on about how well-mannered and nice he was.  Of course, it was _because _she'd never really had the chance to get to know him that she was able to believe that he was well-mannered and nice; Hermione knew his temper better than anyone and knew that he could be anything but nice when he wanted to be.  Still, though, he always managed to impress her parents.

Her mum smiled back nicely and said, "Hello, dear."

Hermione spoke up quickly to cut off any and all snickering that the twins were about to launch into.  "Well, what are you doing here?" she asked Ron and Ginny blankly.

"Yes," piped George, draping an arm around Ginny's shoulder.  "To what do we owe this amazing pleasure?"

Both of the younger siblings rolled their eyes, and Ron said, "We wanted to talk to you about some stuff."

Hermione knew instinctively what they wanted to talk about.  She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was positive that Ron and Ginny had shown up with only one purpose in mind- to discuss the article that had appeared in yesterday's copy of _The Daily Prophet.  _She'd read it but hadn't known how to broach the subject, especially since she wasn't even sure that Ron or Ginny would get to read the article anyway, what with them not taking the paper and all.  So instead, she'd just made the decision to let one of them bring up the topic.

It really wasn't any of her business, after all.

She was just about to suggest to her mother that they make an exit, when her mum touched her arm and quietly said, "I've really got some things to do in London, so why don't you meet me outside of that little pub in about an hour?"  By 'that little pub,' her mum clearly meant _The Leaky Cauldron.  _  
  
Hermione nodded.  "Okay."

Smiling, her mother said goodbye to all of the Weasleys and left the store.  Hermione was just starting to wonder if maybe she ought to also make an exit and go to the sale at _Flourish and Blotts_ when Ginny started right in on their reason for visiting.

"Did you know Dad's getting sacked?"

Fred and George exchanged an uneasy look, proving that they _did, _in fact, know something but were uneasy about revealing it.  

"We don't _know _that he's getting sacked," Fred said slowly.

"Well, what _do _you know?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

The twins glanced around at the crowd, which had filled the store.  "Why don't we go talk at the flat?" George suggested, more to Fred than to anybody else.

His twin nodded.  "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."  Stopping the same blonde employee who had tried to wait on Hermione earlier, he said, "Zandra, we're going to take a short break.  We'll be back in a bit, okay?"

She smiled that dazzling smile and said, "Sure.  See you then."

The twins started ushering the younger teens toward the door, but Hermione hesitated.  "Um, I'll just see you guys later."

"Nonsense," said Fred, shoving her along.  "You haven't even seen our lovely new abode yet."

Hermione, personally, had no real desire to see the twins' flat, but she didn't want to be rude.  And to be perfectly honest, she was a bit curious as to what was really going on with all the so-called inquiries.

The five of them walked about two blocks down the road and turned just slightly up a side-alley before coming to stop in front of a four story apartment building.  "Top floor," said Fred, holding the door open for everyone else to enter.  Ron and Ginny apparently knew where they were going because they led the way up the stairs and to the seventh door on the left.  George used a key to open the door, and held it open for the others.

Hermione didn't know what she was expecting to see when she entered a flat owned by Fred and George Weasley, but she certainly wasn't expecting it to look normal.  There seemed to be absolutely nothing strange or pranksterish about the small home, and Hermione was completely shocked by how clean it was.  She'd seen the bedroom they used to share at the Burrow, and she never in a million years would have expected that they even knew how to clean much less would exercise that knowledge.  

"So, this is it," said Fred, once again pushing her but this time toward the fluffy blue sofa in the living room.  "Can we offer you something to drink or perhaps a snack?"

Hermione glanced sideways at Ron, who sat down beside her, and they shared a look of mutual hilarity at the question.  "Am I stupid?" Hermione asked, turning back to the twins, who were now seating themselves in chairs on the other side of the room.

George pretended to ponder her response, and she glared at him in return.  Ginny rolled her eyes and headed out of the room, announcing to everyone that she had to pee.

Ron, though, got right to the point of why they were all there.  "So, was _The Daily Prophet _telling the truth?  Kingsley got fired?"

His brothers nodded.  

"And Dad's next on the chopping block?"

At this, they hesitated.

"Maybe..." started Fred.

"Or maybe not," finished George.

Ron stared at them blankly for a long moment before turning his lips inward and saying very sarcastically, "Well, thanks for that bit of information.  Right helpful, it is."

"Well, if you're going to get snippy then maybe you shouldn't ask for our help," answered George haughtily.

Ron ignored him.  "How much do you know anyway?"

"More than you do."

The younger one scowled.  "Then just tell me, alright?"

"And why should we?"

"Because if you don't, I'll tell Mum you've taken up dressing in drag."  Everyone's heads turned toward the hallway where Ginny was coming through on her way back from the bathroom.  She was holding what was very clearly a violet colored brassiere at arms length.  She stared at the twins quizzically, holding the piece of underwear up.

Fred snickered, and George turned a pleasant shade of pink but quickly recovered and shrugged.  "It's Tria's.  She works for us."

"Does she now?" said Ginny slowly, still eyeing the bra.  "Exactly what _type _of work does she do?"

Fred and Ron both found this quite humorous, and Hermione honestly didn't know whether to laugh or be disgusted.  George, though, took it all in stride and seemed quite amused by his sister.  "Nice, Ginny."

She shrugged and tossed him the bra.  "You should clean up your bathroom."

He caught it easily and returned a sarcastic smile.  "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

Ginny settled herself on the other side of Ron and looked expectantly at the twins.  "So, seriously.  What do you know?"

"Well, sweet sister dear," said George sarcastically, "we know for a fact that, yes, Kingsley is fired.  We also know that the paper _says _Dad is being investigated."

"Well, someone should give you an award for being such fine investigative reporters," said Ron sarcastically.  "We certainly couldn't have inferred any of that _from reading the damn article!"  _His voice rose on the last words, causing Ginny to jump slightly.  The twins glared at him.

  
Hermione just wanted to ask him where he learned the word 'inferred.'

"Well, let me tell you what you couldn't infer, _Ron."  _For some reason, saying Ron's name with an accent was supposed to make George's statement sound more belittling; Hermione wasn't sure why.  "Fudge knew about the Order a long time before he let on.  In fact, he was just waiting for a chance to get it proved for sure; he knew all along that Dad and Kingsley and Tonks were working for Dumbledore.  And you know Fudge hates Dumbledore.  Well, this whole treason thing is complete bullshit because Fudge knows as well as we do that what they were doing isn't anything even close to treason, but he's just looking for a way to hurt Dumbledore.  He really couldn't care less that Dad or any of the others were involved; he just wants to do something to make Dumbledore look foolish and incompetent.  And what better way than bringing down the Order?"

All of this was said very quickly and very matter-of-factly, leaving the room enveloped in silence at the end.  Hermione ran George's words over in her head, as Ginny and Ron both apparently did the same thing.  The investigations and the firings and all of that really didn't have anything to do with the Order at all.  It was all just a way of getting back at Dumbledore.

  
Fudge was a bastard.

"So, do you think Dad'll really get fired?" Ginny asked, though this time when she spoke, her voice was softer and more timid.

"If he does, it'll be complete bullshit."

Fred's words would normally have drawn a reprimand out of Hermione, but she just couldn't be bothered at the moment.  There was too much to think about.  If Fred and George were telling the truth (and for some reason, she figured they were), then Fudge was apparently out for nothing but revenge against Dumbledore for being a more powerful wizard than he was.  If that was the case, there was no telling what else he was going to do.

  
It was almost as if he didn't care at all that Voldemort was back.

And _that _was something to be worried about.

"Do you know anything else?" asked Ron, sitting up a bit straighter and looking imploringly at his brothers.  "About the Order, I mean.  Mum and Dad won't tell us anything."

"Not really," admitted Fred.  "I think things might have gone on hold temporarily because we haven't really heard anything except that Lupin's got Grimmauld Place now.  Don't know if it'll still be used or not, though."

"There's also the chance," George added, " that there's still stuff going on, but just no one's telling us.  Mum still isn't keen on the idea of us being involved; she's still rattling on about how we're too young.  Course, she really can't do anything about it now."

"So, you think the Order is still meeting?" Hermione asked, speaking up for the first time.

George shrugged.  "Who knows?  All we know is what we hear second-hand."

Hermione hated to think that the best information they would get about the Order would be through the twins.  They tended to embellish things they heard with their own ears; there was no telling what they would make of second-hand remarks.

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	3. Friendships Aren't Always Perfect

A/N:  Thanks for the feedback!!!

Disclaimer:  I don't own them!

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_Dear Professor Lupin,_

_          How is your summer?  Mine is okay.  The Dursleys aren't being too horrible, just mostly leaving me alone.  _

_          I just wanted to know if The Daily Prophet is telling the truth.  Did Kingsley really get fired?  Are Tonks and Mr. Weasley going to be?_

_          I hope you're well._

_Sincerely,_

Harry Potter 

Harry stared at the letter he'd just written.  He wanted certain information about the subject, not the second-hand information that Fred and George had recently given Ron and Hermione.  The form of the letter, though, bugged him.  It sounded like something a seven year old would write, all formal and boring-like.  Only Harry didn't know how else to sound.  It was strange writing to a teacher, even if Lupin hadn't been a professor for over two years now.  

And it didn't matter that Lupin had been one of his father's best friends.  

If anything, that made it all the more awkward.  Especially since he wasn't even sure that Lupin would want to hear from him.

Harry was, after all, the reason Lupin was now the sole survivor of a friendship of four.

Harry counted off the other three members in his head.

_'Dad, my fault just because I was born...  Peter Pettigrew, my fault because I let him go...  Sirius Black, my fault because he followed _me _to the Ministry...  All my fault.'_

And it was true, of course.  All of those things had been Harry's fault.  He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to be the last of his friends.

Actually, he could imagine it.  And quite easily at that.

He just simply didn't _want _to imagine it.  He didn't want to acknowledge what was so obviously a major threat.

His own best friends could easily end up as two more victims on the list of people's deaths that Harry was responsible for.  

_Ron Weasley, Dead Because He Happened Into the Wrong Train Compartment When He Was Eleven._

_Hermione Granger, Dead Because the One Thing She Didn't Know Was How to Safely Choose Friends._

Yeah, it was just a bit too easy to picture.

There was so much to think about now, so many things that were threatening.  Harry couldn't imagine that he would ever feel normal again.  He couldn't even imagine that he could even begin to feel remotely cheerful again.

His whole world was like a fucking nightmare.

And everything he touched turned to shit.

That was what it all boiled down to in the end.  It was like signing your own death warrant if you wanted to get close to him.  Sirius made that mistake, and look what happened to him.

  
He was dead.

Dead.

_Dead._

Harry realized that no matter how many times he kept repeating this to himself, he never fully let it sink in.  It was just still too unreal to believe.  

He tried to picture the day his parents had asked Sirius to be their baby's godfather.  Then he tried to imagine how the conversation would have gone if they'd been True Seers.

"Sirius, we want you to be Harry's godfather.  But before you answer, please keep in mind that we will die and you will spend twelve years in Azkaban.  Oh, yeah.  And then a couple of years later, you'll die, too.  So, what do you say?"

Harry somehow didn't think the answer would have been the same.

Sighing to himself, he folded up the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg.  She was waiting patiently, holding out her claw professionally, probably trying to prove that she was a much better animal than the other owls that had been frequenting his bedroom.  Between Pig and Luna Lovegood's owl, Sonar, Harry was surprised his uncle hadn't come upstairs with a shotgun.

He didn't have a clue as to whether Lupin would write back.  Perhaps he blamed Harry as much as Harry blamed himself; perhaps he would simply glare at the letter before chucking it in the fire.

Who knew anymore?

As Hedwig flew off through the window and into the dark night, Harry caught glimpse of the stack of letters piled on the edge of his desk.  There had certainly been no shortage in word from his friends this summer; he got at least a letter a day, and most of the time, he got more.  It was nice, of course, but Harry couldn't really bring himself to keep up the conversation.

It wasn't like he wanted to completely blow off Ron and Hermione, but he didn't want to let them in on what he was feeling, either.  Maybe it was a rude thought, but he couldn't help but think that neither of them could even possibly come close to understanding.   
  
It was nice that they wanted to try, he supposed.  But it was useless.

Luna, on the other hand, understood a bit more- at least she did about growing up without a parent.  Of course, she still had her father, and her mother's death certainly hadn't been her fault.  Still, though, she understood what that was like.  It was, for some reason, quite comforting conversing with Luna; they'd exchanged a few letters, and Harry always found them amusing and even a bit soothing.  

His eyes fell on the piece of parchment settled at the top of the stack.  It was Hermione's latest letter, telling him how she'd gone to Diagon Alley with her mum and run into Ron and Ginny.  She told him all about the twins' store and their flat, and she'd explained what they had said about Fudge only wanting to take Dumbledore down.  Harry couldn't help but feel a bit jealous that his friends were all traipsing through Diagon Alley without a care in the world while he was stuck on Privet Drive with nothing to entertain him except Mrs. Next Door Neighbor's new workout regimen, which she took up each afternoon in her backyard.  

Granted, she _was _a rather pretty woman, and her working out _did _happen to be a bit entertaining.

  
But still.

It was just one more thing that wasn't fair.

  
Harry wanted to hit himself for sounding so terribly self-pitying.  He didn't want anyone's pity, least of all his own.  But then again, he didn't usually get what he wanted.  It was one of the lovely perks of being Famous Harry Potter.

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved his chair back away from the desk, standing up and pacing his room for what felt like the millionth time that summer.  There was homework to be done, sure, lots of it at that.  But Harry wasn't in the mood; he just wasn't in the mood for anything really.  It didn't seem as if the summer would _ever _end.  In just under a week, he'd be sixteen, but he felt as if he should be forty by now.  

The summer was never going to end.

He would have liked to simply sleep the days away, but he found himself falling asleep late at night and waking up in the early morning.  It was his subconscious hiding from the nightmares, this he knew.  The nightmares were awful, worse than ever, and Harry hated them.  All he saw when he closed his eyes was death and destruction and pain and sadness.

If Hermione were around, she would undoubtedly be nagging him to practice the Occulmency Snape had attempted teaching him.  But Harry would rather have done anything practice that shit, and that's what it was, too- total shit.  It could have saved Sirius's life, but it had failed.  All it was supposed to do was one simple thing, and it hadn't succeeded.

Damn Snape.

  
Harry wasn't sure where all his anger toward Snape was coming from.  True, he'd never _liked _the Potions professor, but now there was a burning rage of heat in his stomach every time he thought of the greasy-haired bastard.  If Snape had just followed Dumbledore's instructions, if he'd only _forced _Harry to learn the procedure, Sirius would still be alive.

Of course, Snape was probably laughing it up in private that both of his own Hogwarts rivals were now dead.  He had made no secret of hating either Harry's father or Sirius, after all.

  
Harry couldn't believe he'd almost felt sorry for Snape after watching his memory in the pensieve.  Snape had undoubtedly deserved everything he'd ever gotten- every tease, every taunt, every hex.

_Everything._

"Harry!"

Harry jumped at the sound of his aunt's voice, so loud and demanding.  She was yelling at him from downstairs, and he knew well enough not to keep her waiting.  Dropping Hermione's letter, he hurried out of his room and to the top of the stairwell.  Aunt Petunia was staring up at him, one hand resting impatiently on her hip.

"Yes?" he asked warily; for some reason, he figured she'd found some reason to tell him off.

But to his surprise, she just huffed a tiny bit before saying, "You've got a telephone call."

Words couldn't express the surprise that Harry felt as the words registered.  He could never remember getting a phone call, except, of course, for the time before his third year when Ron had attempted.  He wasn't sure how to react to the news, so he just simply nodded and tried to appear as nonplussed as possible.  
  
"I'll take it up here."

"Don't talk long," she said shortly.  "Those calls aren't free, you know."

Harry nodded wordlessly and waited until his aunt disappeared again before turning and heading for the upstairs' hall phone.  He had no idea how to have a proper telephone conversation and even less of an idea as to who would want to have one with him.  A brief feeling of dread settled in his stomach before he pushed it away and realized how silly it would be for Voldemort or a Death Eater to be calling him at Privet Drive.

"Er, hello?" he asked uncertainly as he picked up the receiver and heard the click that signaled that the downstairs extension had been hung up.

"Harry?"  The voice was familiar, though it, too, seemed a bit uncertain.

"Hermione."  He hoped his voice didn't sound disappointed because he wasn't disappointed, not really.  It was just... strange.

"Yeah, it's me," she said quickly.  For some reason, Harry got the feeling that she wasn't all that used to having telephone conversations, either.  She seemed very businesslike and straight to the point.  But then again, that's how she was ninety percent of the time anyway.  "Hey, listen.  I just wanted to call and make sure everything is okay.  Because, you know, you haven't written in a couple of days."

"I know."  Harry studied a tiny speck of chipped paint on the wall and vaguely wondered if Aunt Petunia had spotted it yet.  She would probably have already had the entire upstairs repainted if she had.  "I've been busy."  It was a lie, of course, but he didn't want to tell her any other reason.

"Oh."  She sounded slightly disappointed in his answer, but she recovered quickly.  "Well, I just wanted to make sure because, well, I was worried.  And Ron was worried, too."  She finished very hurriedly.

Ron was worried, too, eh?  Well, he certainly didn't sound too worried about anything in all of his letters about how much he hated having to do all the work around the house and how Ginny was such a brat and how his mother was going mental and how his dad was working all the time and how the twins were doing so great with their shop and how he was positive that the Cannons were going to make their comeback this year.    
  
In fact, he sounded just like a normal sixteen year old should.

Real worried, huh?

"Yeah, well, I'm fine," Harry lied smoothly.  "Just busy is all."

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment, and Harry knew she could tell that he wasn't telling the truth.  She _always _seemed to know when he was lying, and he couldn't help but think that it was a rather annoying trait of hers.  Finally, though, she sighed a tiny bit and said, "Okay."

Then there was another moment of silence.  It was sort of awkward, just standing there on the telephone with nothing at all being said.  Harry was just about to suggest that they better hang up, as, after all, calls weren't free, but Hermione interrupted him.

"You aren't having any nightmares or anything, are you?"

Harry really couldn't stand her sometimes.  She just knew too damn much!  He hated the way she always figured _everything _out.

"Of course I'm not," he said sharply.  "Don't you think I'd be telling someone if I was?  I'm not stupid, you know."

"I know," she said bracingly; Harry could imagine her private eye roll.  "I'm just making sure."

  
"Well, I'm not, okay?  So, don't worry about it."

He would have liked nothing better than to take his own advice and not worry about it.

"Okay, Harry, but promise me that if something like that does happen that you'll tell somebody.  Because it's really important."

"I had no idea."

"You don't have to be rude," she said haughtily.  "Excuse me, if you will, for being concerned."

Harry glared at the wall.  He knew perfectly well that he was being sarcastic and that it was rude, but he couldn't really force himself to feel bad.  "Well, do yourself a favor, Hermione, and don't be concerned.  I'm fine and perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thanks."

"Okay, fine.  Whatever, Harry.  Have a good summer.  Bye."

And then she hung up.

  
Harry stood in half-shock, staring at the telephone in his hand, which was now emitting a loud, rather annoying, high-pitched dial tone.  He grumbled to himself and slammed the receiver back down, stomping off to his bedroom.  He ignored his aunt's chiding about making too much noise and slammed his door, locking it from the inside.  He wasn't in the mood to deal with the Dursleys.  He wasn't in the mood to deal with his friends.

He wasn't, at the moment, really in the mood to deal with anyone.

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_Dear Ron,_

_          I just called Harry on the telephone, and he basically told me to shove off.  I really don't know what his problem is.  I mean, we put up with him all last year and didn't ever complain when he was so mean to us, but this is just ridiculous.  We're not even trying to do anything except make sure he's okay, and it's like he hates us sometimes for caring._

_          Well, excuse me, but I have to care._

_          I don't know what to do, Ron.  What if he's never normal again?  What if he spends the rest of his life being this resentful and bitter and never spends a day without worry.  Trust me, I know he's got a lot on his mind, but it's just difficult when he acts like such a prat.  To us, of all people!  You and I have been there for him forever, and he knows that.  That's probably why he thinks it's okay to treat us this way- because he knows we'll still be around if he needs us.  And, Ron, you know that I would always be there for him, and I know you would, too, but sometimes isn't it just hard to stand by and take this?  He doesn't appreciate us at all, and it's not fair to be taken for granted._

_          Maybe I'm just being too over-analytical.  I should be used to this by now, shouldn't I?  After all, Harry's been acting like this for awhile now.  I don't want to act all naggy and everything, but I'm worried.  And I can't help that.  I love him, and I just wish he would realize that instead of always assuming I'm just trying to be his mother.  Because I'm not trying to be his mother.  And I'm not trying to be yours, either.  I know I bug you sometimes about work and stuff like that, but it's only because I want you to do well.  I know you can, if you just try._

_          Oh, I need to stop before I write a whole novel on all the things I do and explanations for them all.  But just know that I only act like that because I care about you.  And I only try to help Harry because I care about him, too._

_          Anyway, write me back if you want.  I'll be here..._

_Love from, _

_Hermione_

Ron stared at the letter in his hands.  All the words seemed to blur together except for three.

_'I love him.'_

Hermione loved Harry.  She'd written it out right there in her own handwriting and everything.  She loved _Harry._

Ron wanted to burn the damn piece of parchment.

He wasn't sure why that phrase made anger coil in his stomach or why he felt betrayed, of all things.  It just didn't make any sense.

Okay, so most of that was a lie.

He did know why he felt angry and betrayed, but it _still _didn't make any sense.  And he hated himself for acknowledging that he knew why it made him feel the way it did.

Why did it always have to be about Harry?  Everything in the whole bloody world seemed to revolve around the Boy Who Lived.  And, honestly, what was so special about a damn scar anyway? Ron had more than few scars on his body; it was a given growing up with five older brothers.  But did anyone make such a big deal about them?

No, because they _weren't _a big deal.

  
Nothing about Ron was a big deal.  He wasn't very smart like Percy or very attractive like Bill.  He was funny sometimes, but it was nothing compared to the way Fred and George could make people roll with laughter.  He _definitely _didn't have the Quidditch power that Charlie had, even if he was improving a bit.  He wasn't really anything special at all.

Just number six in a line of seven siblings.

Just number three in a trio of friends.

Harry was the hero, and Hermione was the brains.  It didn't really leave much for him to claim, so he always just dealt with being what he was.

  
The sidekick.

And just as in true Muggle fairy-tale fashion, the sidekick was, well, kicked to the side while the hero got the girl.  And Ron felt sick all over again thinking about how much this bothered him.  

Why did he have to like her anyway?

Hermione Granger, of all the girls in the world, he had to go and fall for _that _one.  The one he could never have because she _loved _his best friend.

She'd said it herself.

But it wasn't like he asked to fall for her anyway; hell, he wasn't even sure _how _it had happened.  And he still hated himself for feeling that way about her because it just wasn't right.  He wasn't supposed to like her.

He didn't even _want _to like her.

She was Hermione Fucking Granger, for crying out loud!

Ron tossed the letter aside for what seemed like the millionth time.  He kept picking it back up, though, and rereading it, just to make sure he hadn't dreamed it.  But it was always there.

_'I love him.'_

Slumping down onto his bed, Ron thought about everything.  He'd tried for so long to pretend that nothing was there, tried to ignore the hot prickling feeling he got behind his ears whenever she sat too close.  This whole school year, he'd made a conscious effort just not to make anything too obvious to her because he was positive that the very worst case scenario was that she would realize how he felt.  And that would be horrible.

What would she think if she knew some of the nasty little thoughts he'd had about her over the past couple of years.  Or some of the dreams- that would be a disaster.  He himself hated to remember them sometimes, not that they weren't pleasant enough because, bloody hell, they definitely _were _pleasant.  It was just humiliating to think that his subconscious mind could dream up such things, much less put Hermione into the mix.

Especially since she obviously did not feel the same way and most certainly did not share the same sort of dreams.

Ron had considered the possibility of Hermione liking Harry before.  After all, nearly everyone at school linked her with the Boy Who Lived; it was just the most natural pairing.  They were a lot alike in many ways- both raised by Muggles, both somewhat sensitive towards other people, stuff like that.  And he wouldn't lie and say that he hadn't believed what Rita Skeeter had written about Harry and Hermione when they were fourth years.

Of course, he was probably just looking for another reason to be pissed off at Harry, but still.

Then again, it was all too weird to think about.  Harry and _Hermione?  _Neither one of them had ever shown the slightest sort of interest like _that _toward each other.  They always seemed much more like just good friends, which is what Ron had always thought they were.  Until now.

_'I love him.'_

She didn't just like him, she fucking _loved _the bastard.

Ron was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Pig pecking at his bedroom window.  Hell, he hadn't even noticed that Pig had _left.  _Still scowling, he rolled closer to his window and undid the latch, letting it up just enough for the tiny owl to zoom inside, hooting loudly as always.

"Oh, shut up," Ron said hatefully, snatching at the bird and managing to catch hold of its neck so that he could bring it down and get the letter that was tied to its leg.  Once he managed this feat, his face turned down slightly.  It was another letter from Hermione.  "How do you just _know?" _he asked Pig, releasing him with no idea how the little bird just always seemed to know when someone wanted to send him a letter.  

Ron shrugged and slit open the second letter from Hermione in a single day.

_Ron,_

_          I forgot to write this in the other letter, so I hope Pig isn't too worn out from making another trip.  He's adorable, really, always shows up when I need him. _

_          Anyway, I want to know if you can meet me in Diagon Alley next weekend.  I know that's the day Ginny's going to the football match with Dean, so I didn't figure you were doing anything.  Mum and Dad are going to France for a few days, so I can get away easily; the Floo is still hooked up to my fireplace.  We need to get school supplies and all of that, but mostly I just want to see you.  I miss you, and I feel like you're the only real friend I've got.  I mean, I know that's wrong; Harry is still my real friend, but I'm so annoyed with him right now.  And plus, I miss you._

_          Anyway, write back with your answer.  I really hope you can come._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

Ron read the letter over again to make sure he hadn't misread.

She missed him.

She'd said it not once, but twice.  She _missed _him.  

Maybe when she used the word 'love' in the other letter, she hadn't meant it like, "I want to marry Harry Potter."  Maybe she meant it more along the lines of, "I love him like a brother."

Yes.  Like Ron loved Ginny.

Surely, that's what she meant.

Ron couldn't mask the sudden uplifting feeling he was getting inside of him.  Maybe things weren't so rotten after all.  Maybe Harry wasn't a bastard.  Maybe he wouldn't have to pummel him to death now.

And maybe, just _maybe, _Hermione him, Ron, in the way she really couldn't possibly like Harry.

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Hermione paced her bedroom, twisting her hands together nervously.

  
She couldn't believe she'd just sent that letter.  It had sounded so... _mushy.  _

_'And plus, I miss you.'_

Oh, god, Ron was probably having a huge laugh right about now.  He was probably on the verge of tears, he was so humored.  Would he tease her?  

"Of course he will," she answered herself out loud.  "Has he ever passed up a chance to tease you about anything?"  She threw her hands up in the air.  "Great, now I'm talking to myself."

That was all she needed, to go completely mental and start rambling to herself when she was already well on her way to the nuthouse anyway.  After all, sending a letter that almost said _so much _to _Ron Weasley _didn't say too much for her sanity.  

_But who are you kidding, silly little girl?  _Hermione grimaced as that stupid little voice she was so used to hearing crept into her head.  She had, in fact, been concerned more than once for her sanity after having battling little conversations with that voice.  _He already knows everything.  Everybody already knows everything._

Hermione turned on her CD player full blast, not caring for one second that her parents were downstairs or that she didn't know the song that was playing.  It was noise, and noise was exactly what she needed right now.  She needed something, _anything, _to distract her.

The music was blaring and quite annoying, but Hermione had never heard such wonderful sounds.  With such loud noise, she could barely think about anything, much less what a complete and total idiot she was.

"Hermione!"  

  
She winced as she heard her father's voice just barely over the music; he was apparently outside of her door and pounding on it, no doubt wondering what had gotten into her.  For a second, she thought about ignoring him; after all, she could easily lie later and say she just hadn't heard him calling.

Then the pounding got louder.  "Hermione!"

Sighing, she crossed the room to her door and opened, smiling innocently at her father, who was staring back at her, quite red-faced.  "Hi, Dad," she said casually.

"What the bloody hell are you _doing?" _he asked exasperatedly.

Hermione wondered if he'd gone momentarily stupid, perhaps from the noise.  "I'm just listening to some music."

"Turn.  That.  Down."

It was his warning voice; Hermione had heard it a few times before on the brief occasions she'd attempted to test her parents.  It never resulted well.  Still...

  
"But this is my favorite song."

"Hermione."  He had now done the eye-narrowing thing that almost always spelled trouble.  When she was younger, she'd been quite afraid of it.  Now, though, for some reason it just wasn't having the desired affect.

Not really having any clue why she was pushing him (perhaps it was just something to do), she tried again.  "Yes, Daddy?"

He stared at her in blank shock.  She herself was in blank shock.

"Turn it down _now."_

"I will when this song is over."  She still had no clue what song it was, but apparently that didn't matter.  Her last statement seemed to seal the deal for her father.

He marched right into her room and yanked the plug from the wall roughly, causing Hermione to jump slightly in shock.  He turned back to her and spoke very calmly, though his tone left nothing to question.

"I suggest you rethink who you're speaking to next time, _young lady, _or you will be very sorry indeed."

And with that, he left her room and went back downstairs.

  
Hermione stared after him, for some reason mildly amused.  She would be very sorry indeed, huh?  What was he going to do?  _Ground _her?  There wasn't really any place she had any desire to go anyway, except for Diagon Alley, of course.  But even if she did happen to get grounded, it wasn't like her parents would be able to stop her.

No, they were far too busy to be bothered.

After all, she heard that Paris was simply _lovely _this time of year.

Without caring one bit that she had just pissed her father off, she flopped onto her bed and opened a book.  She couldn't help but notice that she was in a slightly better mood now that she'd had a mini-row with her father.

It certainly took her mind off of _other _things.

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	4. Diagon Alley

A/N:  Thanks to all who've left feedback and given me wonderful comments.  You're helpful and great!!

  
Disclaimer:  Everything belongs to JK Rowling.

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Hermione looked into her closet, wondering why, whenever she actually needed something halfway decent, she had absolutely _nothing _to wear.  Well, honestly, it wasn't as if she needed anything extra special to wear because she wasn't really going any place special- just Diagon Alley.  But still, she wanted to look nice.

For... other... reasons.

Her parents had left early that morning, sneaking into her bedroom to kiss her goodbye and promising to call later that night after they'd settled into their hotel room.  She still wasn't entirely sure what the purpose of the Paris trip was, and she wasn't actually quite positive that she even wanted to know.  They'd mentioned something about business, but there was really no telling.  And Hermione certainly didn't want to guess.

All she knew for sure was that her parents were going to be gone for five days, leaving her all alone in the house.  She loved staying alone because she always felt so peaceful and content when there was absolutely nothing around to distract her but her own thoughts.  Although, sometimes her own thoughts were too much of a distraction for her to handle.

Like right now, for instance.

Giving up on finding something that would make her look gorgeous, she settled for a simple pair of khakis and a red short-sleeved shirt.  It was a boring enough outfit, but it wasn't _too _dreadful.  Besides, she certainly didn't want to appear obvious, and the last thing she wanted anyone to know was that she had actually put effort into finding a nice outfit.

After all, Diagon Alley was nothing to get excited about.

She'd mentioned to her mum that she was probably going to make the trip and get new supplies for school, and though her mother had been a bit reluctant about her plans of running off to London alone, she'd finally decided Hermione was quite capable of taking care of herself and had left her money, which, when converted to Galleons, would buy her enough things to last her for the entire school year.

The digital clock beside her bed flashed the time at her.  She was doing well on time, and so she took time to mess with her hair, a horrific feat at the best of times.  The hot and humid weather that was still plaguing their country simply wouldn't allow too many options; leaving it down certainly wasn't attractive.  She fiddled around with it for several minutes before finally deciding that the best she was going to get would be a simple ponytail.  

Her eyes fell on a small blue bottle on her dressing table, which was filled with pink liquid.  It was the perfume Ron had given her for Christmas that year, and she bit back a grin at the memory of opening it and being met with no idea whatsoever as to how to react.  It was certainly different than anything else he'd ever given her, and she remembered her words to him.  _"That perfume is unusual."  _She hadn't meant that it _smelled _strange because it didn't; it was a nice, pleasant flowery smell, a mix of wildflowers.  What's she'd meant was that the actual gift itself was unusual, as he'd never given her anything more personal than a box of sugar quills in the past.  She'd been beyond pleased when he had acted so nonchalant about the present; it would have been quite awkward otherwise.  Deciding that just a dab couldn't hurt her, she splashed a tiny amount of the perfume to her neck and replaced the cork of the bottle.  And with one last glimpse in the mirror, she shrugged and went downstairs to her fire.

Traveling by Floo Powder wasn't her ideal form of transportation, but it was quick and relatively painless as long as she kept her mouth and eyes shut tightly.  The only real downside to it was the mess that it normally left her in; of course, there wasn't really any way around that, so she would simply have to do her best to clean up once she got to Diagon Alley.  Taking a pinch of the white powder, she threw it into her fireplace and was instantly met with the huge green flames native to the Floo network.  Squeezing her eyes closed, she stepped into the flames and managed to say, "Diagon Alley!" before pressing her lips together tightly.

After all of the spinning and tugging, she found herself being pushed out of the grate and landing flat on her butt.  Luckily, the Diagon Alley grate was in the back of the Leaky Cauldron, and there wasn't anyone back there to witness her rather ungraceful arrival.  She stood up and walked across the room to the old cracked mirror that still hung from what was probably years and years before.  She wasn't too badly dirty, nothing that a bit of dusting off wouldn't fix.

Later, after she'd cleaned up a little and pecked her way through the entrance to Diagon Alley, she checked her watch and saw that she was just on time.  Ron was supposed to meet her outside of Fortescue's, and when she turned the corner, she perked up a bit, seeing that he was, as promised, waiting for her, a small caramel sundae sitting in front of him.

"Hey," she said brightly, sliding into a seat at the otherwise empty table he was sitting at.

He grinned in return, making Hermione suddenly remember exactly _why _she wanted something nice to wear.  "Are your parents gone?"

She nodded.  "Yeah, they left this morning."

"Want some?" he asked, pushing the half-eaten ice-cream toward her.   She smiled and took the spoon, the fact that Ron had just offered to give away food not at all lost to her.  "It's good, isn't it?" he asked, as she took her first bite.

She nodded and swallowed the cold treat.  "Yeah, because it's so hot out here."

"I know," he groaned, a bit over-dramatically, in Hermione's opinion.  "It's _never _been this hot before!"

She had to agree and took another bite of ice-cream before offering the spoon back to him.  "So, Ginny's gone to West Hamm, huh?"

Ron scowled slightly.  "Yeah," he said begrudgingly, dipping the spoon into the sundae.  "But all I know is that she better not be gone too long because I would hate to have to kill Dean."  
  
Hermione snorted.  "Yeah, that probably wouldn't be such a good thing."

He shrugged and took his bite.  "I still can't believe she's being serious about that."

"Well, she is," said Hermione knowingly, gratefully accepting the spoon, which he offered to her.  "I think she really likes him."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes.  "I don't think I want to hear about it."

  
Snickering to herself, Hermione finished off a bit more of the sundae.  "So, did your mum make a big deal about you wanting to come out here today?"

He shook his head.  "Nah, not really.  She'd already promised me and Ginny new things, so she gave me enough money to get things.  She still hasn't told us about Dad, so I figure that if they want to keep that a secret, I won't feel guilty about taking their money."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or scold him.  She settled on a sigh and a headshake.  There was a brief moment of silence in which she focused her attention on eating the sundae before sliding it back to him to finish off.

"Have you heard from Harry lately?" he asked a moment later, his mouth full of ice cream.

She wasn't sure why it bothered her that he wanted to talk about Harry.  It almost seemed like everything was _always _about Harry.  Still, though, she shook her head and answered.  "No, not since I called him.  He didn't really seem too keen to talk to me."

Ron nodded slowly and was quiet for just another few seconds before taking the last bite and looking up at her.  "Why do you think that is?"

Hermione was caught slightly off-guard by the question.  Not really knowing what answer he was looking for, she shrugged and said, "I don't know.  Maybe I'm too lowly for him."  She couldn't quite believe she'd actually _said _that.  It wasn't like she hadn't truly been thinking it but still.

To her surprise, though, Ron seemed completely nonplussed by her response.  "Yeah, me, too."

She raised her eyebrows, a bit shocked that he felt the same way.  "Really?"

"Yeah.  I mean, I sent him his birthday present and everything, but it's like he just doesn't want to even acknowledge that we're supposed to be best friends."

"He's just so withdrawn."

Ron nodded.  "Yeah, I know.  It's like he doesn't even want us to _try _and understand."

Hermione didn't know why she was so shocked that Ron seemed to just get it so perfectly.  After all, it was probably twice as hard for Ron to deal with Harry's avoidance than it was for Hermione to deal with.  Hermione, after all, had always put Harry and Ron in the same category as to their friendship with her; Ron, on the other hand, was Harry's best friend and vice versa.  Hermione just didn't add up for either of them the way they added up for each other to her.  She hadn't been stupid and completely missed the way they had each tried and failed miserably at trying to overcome this obstacle when she was all they had to work with during their fight in fourth year.

"I sent him something, too," she said quietly.  "But I haven't heard anything from him."

"I wonder what _Luna _sent him," said Ron with that familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Hermione stared at him.  "Luna?  As in Luna _Lovegood?"_

"How many other Lunas do we know?"

Hermione just shook her head.  "Why on earth would Luna send him something for his birthday?"

"Because she wrote Ginny and asked where she could send something to Harry.  I don't know if he wrote back, but it's still funny."

She giggled.  "I can't believe that."

"Yep," said Ron with a grin.  "She must fancy him."

"But I thought Luna liked you."

  
_"What?!"  _Ron sputtered, his eyes bulging slightly.  "Why the _hell _would you think that?"

Hermione giggled again, amused by his reaction.  "_Good luck, Ronald," _she said in her best dreamy sort of voice.

Ron glared at her and kicked her under the table.  "Shut up.  That doesn't mean anything."

"Ow!" she grabbed at her shin, still snickering.  "_I don't think I'd've minded.  I don't like dancing much."_

"That is stupid reasoning," Ron said firmly.  "For all we know, she could have liked _you."  _

Hermione pulled a slightly disgusted face at the thought.  "Um, no, I think not."

"Then again, I don't think you're really her type."  
  
"I should hope not."

"Too logical is what you are."

Hermione glared back at him, and then they both started laughing again.  This was nice.  This is what she missed, him making her laugh.  He could always do that, even when she was feeling her worst; it was a gift.

"So, are you done with your ice cream?" she asked, staring at the empty bowl and already knowing the answer.

"Yeah, do you need to go to Gringotts?"

She nodded and felt to make sure she still had the money in the pocket of her trousers.  "I've got to make an exchange."

They chatted along mindlessly as they walked down the crowded road to the bank, and Hermione hid a smile as Ron held the door open for her when they reached the entrance.  For once, Gringotts seemed free of its usual waiting lines.

"Yes?"  The goblin at the exchange desk looked up at her with a scowl, the look so native to goblins, yet still so unnerving.

"Um, I'd like to make an exchange.  Muggle to wizarding."  

"Name?"

Hermione had never been asked to identify herself at Gringotts before, but she answered anyway.  "Hermione Granger."

"Granger?"  The goblin studied her through wire-rimmed spectacles.  She swallowed nervously.  "From the newspaper.  Potter's friend."

Hermione glanced sideways at Ron, both of their eyes widening slightly.  Ron suddenly seemed quite keen to back out of the goblin's line of sight.  

"I've seen your name in the _Prophet," _he told her calmly, though it still freaked her out a bit.  "Last month."

With no idea as to how she was supposed to respond, she simply swallowed again and nodded a little shakily.  "Um, yes, sir..."

"Muggle-born, are you?" he asked, his tone suddenly cool and mysterious as he stared at the Muggle notes she'd laid on the desk.

She glanced sideways at Ron who looked just as confused as she felt.  "Yes," she said slowly.  "I am."

He nodded, and without another word, he disappeared with her Muggle money and returned with the proper exchange of galleons, sickles, and knuts.  Hermione didn't wait around to be questioned any further; she simply scooped up her money and dropped it into her bag and then turned and hurried out of the bank and down the stone steps, Ron close at her heels.

"What was _that _about?" he asked, finally catching up to her as she reached the bottom of the steps and started back down the street away from Gringotts.

  
"I don't know," she said, glancing back at the large bank.  "But he was definitely creepy."

"No shit." 

"Nice language," she said dully, not knowing when everyone around her had turned into such filthy mouths, only knowing that she found herself closer and closer to the edge of joining them.

"_Flourish and Blotts?"  _Ron ignored her scolding and stopped in front of the bookshop.  Hermione, mildly surprised that _he _would be the one to suggest going for their books, smiled and nodded.

  
They entered the crowded store and walked towards the back where all of the Hogwarts books were located.  

"Did you figure out your schedule?" Hermione asked, as they browsed through the various editions of the spell books.

Ron nodded absently.  "Yeah."  He pulled out two copies of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six _and handed one to her.  "Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Care of Magical Creatures..." he stood on tiptoe to check the higher titles and lowered himself back down a moment later, "and Potions."

"You're taking Potions?" Hermione couldn't hide the shock in her tone.  

"Yeah," he looked at her strangely.  "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged and looked down at the cover of the new Charms book.  "I dunno.  I just figured that, given the choice, you'd opt out of Potions this year."

"Well, I can't, can I?  I've got to have a N.E.W.T. in it to apply to the Auror Academy."  
  
At this, Hermione looked up and noticed that he was now staring very hard at the book titles, though it didn't really look like he was seeing them at all.  She knew he was extremely unsure of his abilities to make the cut in the field, but she also knew that being an Auror was his one real dream.  

"Well, then that's great.  We'll have that class together."  She smiled at him, hoping to convey some of her confidence in him.

"Did you figure out your schedule?"  He seemed put at ease by her reaction, though she wasn't at all calmed by his question.

She nodded uneasily.  "Yeah, I guess I'll just keep taking everything."

He stared at her as if she'd gone mad.  Perhaps she had...

"Why the _hell _do you want to take everything when half of that stuff is useless?"

"It's not useless," she said defensively.  "And anyway, I haven't even come close to deciding a career, so I don't know what I'll need.  Better safe than sorry."  She hoped that the disappointment she felt in herself at not having been able to choose a future for herself.  After all, she certainly had a reputation for being on top of things; something as serious as a career choice should have been taken care of ages ago.

Ron, though, didn't seem phased by her lack of direction.  He was still stuck on the first part of her explanation.  "Hermione, you'll _kill _yourself trying to keep up with all those subjects _and _Prefect stuff _and _S.P.E.W."  He rolled his eyes at the last part of his statement.

She turned a look of very vague interest on him.  "I managed just fine last year."

"But things are going to be harder this year.  The classes are going to be much more advanced."  
  


"Ron," she sighed and shook her head.  "Ron, I've been doing N.E.W.T. standard work for a long time; I'm pretty sure I'll manage just fine."

He still didn't seem convinced but simply shrugged and went back to browsing the titles.  "Well, here," he said, heaving a particularly hefty book from a high shelf.  "You'll be needing this."

Hermione stared down at the title.  _Advanced Astronomy: A Closer Look at the Universe.  _Although Astronomy was definitely not one of her more enjoyable subjects, she did feel that it had its advantages and could possibly be an important asset to her future.  Setting it on top of the Charms book she'd now set on the floor, she turned and helped browse the shelves.  Within fifteen minutes, they'd found all they needed, Hermione's stack standing quite a bit higher than Ron's.

"Do you want to switch till we check out?" he asked, eyeing her load, which was probably more than twice as heavy as his own.

She thought it very sweet of him to offer to carry the books until they were ready to leave; afterwards, it wouldn't be difficult at all as the shop owners always set Weightless Charms on their packages.  Smiling her gratitude, she said, "If you don't mind, that would be very nice."

He shrugged and bent down to heave her load from the floor.  She knew it had to be heavy as his much smaller stack wasn't light.  He didn't complain, though, simply followed her around the shelves to the other section she wanted to visit.  They deposited their loads once more, and Hermione felt herself getting engrossed by the rows and rows of books.  Ron waited patiently, barely sighing at all, until she finally found something that piqued her interest.

_"Ancient and Almost Forgotten Spells of the Past."  _Ron read the title out loud as he stared down at the book in her hands.  "Planning on using some long-ago deceased magic, Hermione?"

She wasn't sure why she was drawn to the book, but she could definitely see it having something very important within.  "I don't know," she answered honestly.  "It just looks interesting, I guess."

  
With that said, the duo made their way to the check out and paid for their books, both leaving the shop carrying virtually weightless package.  Hermione carefully placed both packages into her messenger bag; it was a tight fit, but she managed.  The street outside was still very crowded, and the hot sun was blazing brightly, causing Hermione to squint until her eyes adjusted to the light.

  
"I need to get new robes," said Ron, looking down the road toward Madam Malkin's.  "Do you want to come, or do you just want to meet me somewhere later?"

She shrugged.  "I'll go with you.  I can look around if nothing else."

  
They started making their way down the street toward the robe shop, squeezing in and out of the crowds of people shopping; apparently all the witches and wizards in England had taken it upon themselves to go out on that particular Saturday.  

They walked in silence for a few minutes until Hermione tripped over one of the laces on her trainers.  "Hang on a second," she said, stopping in the clearing of two buildings to drop to a squatting position and pushing her bag out of her way so she could tie her shoes.  Ron stopped and turned back around to wait.

"What's wrong?" she asked curiously, as Ron was staring at something behind her very oddly.  Before he could make any type of answer, though, she felt something sharp poke the back of her neck.

  
And that was the last thing she remembered.

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Ron woke up with a splitting headache, the sort of pain that made it nearly impossible to even open your eyes.  He was immediately aware that he had no idea where he was even before he got the chance to glance around at his surroundings; wherever he'd been slumbering was hard and cold, not at all like the worn mattress on his bed at the Burrow or even like his slightly more sturdy four poster at Hogwarts.  Forcing his eyes open, Ron winced in the light and groaned, the pain in his head doubling instantly.

From his reclining position, he could see nowhere except straight up; what he saw, though, gave no clue to him except that he was outside.  The sky was above him, visible through what looked like an opening between two tall buildings.  A sharp pain shot through the front of his head, and he grabbed at it out of instinct and felt something wet and sticky on his fingers.

"Ugh," he said, bringing them back down to his view and looking at the thick blood, his blood, that was now covering them.  Realizing that something was definitely not right, as he was outside sleeping and bleeding, he forced himself into a sitting position and tried desperately not to notice the pain that was still plaguing his head.

"What the hell..."  He looked around at his surroundings and saw that he seemed to be lying in the middle of some deserted alley.  It was still daylight outside, but the area he was in was dim because of the constriction from normal view.  He had no clue where he was, as nothing at all looked familiar.

  
Except for the unconscious form of a certain brunette that was lying not five ten from him...

"Hermione!"  He forgot all about the blood and the pain and jumped up to rush to her.  He dropped back down to his knees when he reached her and winced at the sight of a large purplish bruise that was showing prominently underneath her left eye.  She was breathing, though; her chest was rising and falling steadily, and for this he was more thankful than he could even comprehend.  He didn't know what had happened, only that they couldn't afford to stick around and figure it out.  "Hermione, wake up!"  He reached for her shoulder and shook her lightly.  She groaned and mumbled something but didn't open her eyes.  "Please wake up, come on, Hermione, get up..."  He shook her more roughly, and this time her eyes did flutter open.

"Ron?"  Her voice was groggy, and she was staring up at him with still unfocused eyes.  "What happened?"  Her eyes started to close slowly, but he shook her shoulder again.

"I don't know.  But we have to go."  He reached with both hands and lifted her into a sitting position.  Her eyes opened once again as he struggled to balance in his squatting position while supporting all of her weight.

"You're bleeding..."  She looked at him strangely and slowly lifted one of her hands to touch the wound he could now feel more prominently.  He expected it to hurt when she touched it, but instead it felt strangely less painful.  "Why are you bleeding?"  She sounded so distant and dreamy as she lowered her hand to stare at the blood now covering it.

"I don't know."  They didn't have time for this.  "Come on, we've got to get out of here." 

"Not so fast, Mr. Weasley."  Ron stopped in the middle of trying to pull Hermione to her feet and turned his head at the sound of his name.    There was no one behind him, so he carefully set Hermione back down, thankful that she was now awake enough to sit up on her own, and he stood up to look all around him.

Suddenly, though, a man in a black cloak seemed to materialize out of thin air, and it was only after Ron saw the Invisibility Cloak drop away that he remembered.  He'd turned around to wait for Hermione while she tied her trainer but had seen a hand clutching a wand appear out of nowhere.  He remembered seeing Hermione just topple over for seemingly no reason, but that was the last thing he could recall.

"Who are you?" he demanded, instinct telling him to back away and ignore the urge to try and get a better look at the hooded man's face.

"That, I'm afraid, is none of your concern."  The man stepped forward a bit, and Ron realized all too late that he was heading to the place where Hermione was now sitting, looking now fully awake and quite terrified.  "Miss Granger, is it?  How are you feeling?"

Hermione jumped up immediately and backed away from the man and closer to Ron.  

"There's no need to run, children," said the voice, calm and serene.  "You won't get very far if you make this difficult."

"What do you want?"  Hermione was now looking not so much terrified as she was extremely pissed off.  Ron had no doubt that she was remembering the last time they'd been around any of these familiarly cloaked figures; this man was a Death Eater as were all the ones who tried to hurt them in June.  

"I think you know what we want, young one," the man now sounded almost amused.  "Quite thankful we are, for the lovely little tip-off that you two were visiting this Saturday."

  
The Gringotts' goblin...  Ron looked sideways at Hermione, who stared at him with a look of equal comprehension.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter would join you if he could, perhaps you'd like to tell us where we can find him?"

"Go to hell."  Ron glared at the man despite the fact that eye-contact was impossible.  He was surprised that he wasn't more scared than he was; he was, if anything, feeling blinding anger.

"I'm afraid that can't be arranged."  A cold, nasty laughter sounded from beneath the hood.  "You see, my death is not on the agenda today."

"Neither are ours," Hermione said defiantly, and the man laughed again.

  
"How naïve you are."

  
"You can't kill us," she said, not backing down in the least.  "You need us."

Ron couldn't express how impressed he was by her complete lack of fear.  If she was feeling any, she was doing a damn good job of hiding it.  It was almost as if she'd been waiting for something like this and knew exactly how to go about handling it.  She never failed to amaze him.

"Top of your class, aren't you?"  The man shrugged.  "Well, yes, you're certainly very intuitive.  However, you're also very badly mistaken."

"If you want Harry, you need us," she said simply.  It was almost as if she were bargaining with the Death Eater.

"Correction," came the reply.  "We need _one _of you."

Hermione faltered, and Ron looked at her, hoping to catch her eye but she didn't respond.  Not knowing what else to do, Ron dug his hand into his pocket and reached for something that was not there.

"Looking for this?"  The Death Eater produced one and then another wand.  Ron recognized them immediately as his own and Hermione's.  "Surely, you didn't think we'd give you a fair chance in all of this."

Finally, Ron was able to catch Hermione's eye.  He saw in it a deeply hidden hesitation.  She was afraid.

"Of course, before we get to the main fun, I don't suppose it would hurt to have a bit of warm up."  He deposited the two extra wands back into his robe and pulled out his own.  "How about a bit of trivia?  You're smart, aren't you?  Prefects?  Top of the class?"  He looked at Hermione, who was now staring at him very intently.  "I'll ask the questions, and you two answer.  If I like the answer, you move on to the next round.  If not..."  His voice trailed off, and Ron could just make out the shadow of a smile on his hooded face.  "We'll start with you, Weasley.  Where is Potter now?"

"Fuck you."  It was the first response that came to mind, and he didn't regret it at all, even if he was sure that Hermione was silently chiding him for the language.  

"Ew, that's a wrong answer, I'm afraid."  The Death Eater's tone was a very fake one of sympathy.  "Lucky for you, though, there's a bonus question."  Ron glared at him.  "And guess what!  It's a repeat!  Where is Potter, you little piece of shit?"  His tone was no longer joking and jovial, and he brandished his wand threateningly in Ron's direction.

Ron, though, was determined not to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that wand unnerved him in the least.  "Well, guess what.  My answer's a repeat, too!  Fuck you!"

"_Crucio!"  _

Ron didn't even have time to register the Curse before the pain hit him; it was like nothing he'd ever felt before, truly, truly unbearable.  For a brief second, he remembered the way the spider had writhed during his fourth year when the fake Mad-Eye had demonstrated the Unforgivables, but then he couldn't think of anything at all.  His knees buckled, and he hit the floor.

He heard Hermione scream in terror and saw her jump back in shock as he fell, but he bit down hard on his tongue to stop his own screams.  It hurt _so badly..._

And then it was over.

The Death Eater lifted the Curse, leaving Ron panting on the ground and Hermione now looking thoroughly horrified.  They were both stunned silent.

"So, perhaps you'd like to answer my question now, yes?"  The man walked closer to stand over Ron, but his face was still fully concealed.

Gasping for breath, he managed to shake his head.  "No."

The wand was pointed at him almost instantly.  "Are you sure about that?"

Ron stared at it, trying his best to not notice that Hermione now appeared full to the brim of all the fear she'd been void of moments before.  For some reason, the fact that she was so afraid bothered him more than his own fear.  Gathering up a breath, he managed once again to defy the Death Eater.  "I'm not telling you anything."

"_Crucio!"  _

This time the spell seemed to hit with more force, and Ron actually cried out at the initial shock.  He felt like he was on fire; pain was burning him from the inside out, and all he could do was pray for it all to be over, pray that he would somehow pass out and not have to feel the twisting and burning of his insides anymore.

"Stop it!"  Hermione's shrill voice echoed in his head, but he couldn't move his head enough to see her.  She sounded absolutely terrified, though, and that seemed to triple the pain.  "Stop hurting him!"

The Death Eater's voice also joined the mix, now with the tone of someone who was trying to be coaxing.  "Would you care to cut a deal, Miss Granger?"

"Yes!" she shouted.  "Just stop!"

The Curse was lifted, and Ron let out what seemed to be the longest breath imaginable.  He realized that he'd been holding his breath in as a way to deter the pain.  

"Well, if you answer my question," said the Death Eater, now facing Hermione, "we won't have to use that lovely little method anymore."

Ron looked up frantically at Hermione, who was now twisting the hem of her shirt nervously.  It was clear that she had no clue what to do, so Ron tried to help her out.  "No, Hermione!"

She looked over at him, and he saw that there were tears glistening in her eyes.  She shook her head at him and turned back to their kidnapper.  "What question?"  

  
She was stalling; Ron could tell that she knew exactly what question, but he was positive that she was doing anything to buy them some time.  He hoped she could manage to buy some more.

  
"Where does Dumbledore hole Potter away when he's not around?" asked the Death Eater vengefully.  

Hermione didn't answer.  Her lips moved, but nothing came out.  It was almost as if she were completely faltering over which decision she should make.  What was _wrong _with her?  There was only one decision she _could _make.

"I..."  She looked over at Ron, and her face fell.  "I... can't tell you."

It was the right decision, of course, the _only _decision, but it didn't ease the horrifying pain at all when the Death Eater whipped around and once again sent the Cruciatus Curse at him.  A scream echoed, and Ron wasn't sure if it was his own or Hermione's; he wasn't able to comprehend anything except that he wasn't sure how much more of this agony he could endure.  His vision was clouding, and he was finding it hard to focus on anything, though he forced himself to listen to the conversation going on around him.

"Please stop!" Hermione sounded as if she were sobbing now, but he could no longer make out her face; all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut as tightly as possible.

"I'll stop when I get my answer."

"We're not going to tell you, damn it!" Hermione never swore.

"Then I'm not going to stop."

  
"Please!"  She was begging now, pleading even.  "Just please stop..."

The Death Eater laughed and, surprisingly, lifted the Curse.  "Had enough, Weasley?" he asked jovially.

  
Ron couldn't even respond.  He just pressed his face to the cold concrete beneath him and struggled to breathe.

"Would you like to switch places with the young miss?  Just say the word, and I'll let her take over for you."

Ron forced his head up and glared daggers at the other man.  "Fuck you," he spat out with the last of his breath.

  
"Repetitive, aren't you?"  The cloaked man shrugged.  "Very well.  I can be repetitive, too.  _Crucio!"_

The pain from the last time hadn't even receded before he was blinded with a whole new set of agony.  Seconds could have turned to minutes, minutes could have turned to hours; Ron had no idea.  He had no concept of anything now except for the throbbing that seemed to have taken over his whole body.  He could hear Hermione screaming something in the distance and heard what sounded like a struggle, but he couldn't make anything out.

Only the horrible, horrible pain...

  
And then he blacked out.

*********************************************************

 Hermione wasn't sure how she got back to the street with Ron's limp body because he was a lot taller than her and weighed quite a bit more than she did, but she somehow managed to drag him through the alley and up to the main road.  

The escape had been a narrow one and one she wouldn't likely forget any time in the near future.  After the last Cruciatus was thrown at Ron, she'd grabbed hold of the Death Eater's cloak and literally begged him to stop; of course, it was to no avail, and the Death Eater had simply laughed her.  He shouldn't have laughed, though.  He didn't know that she'd managed to grab a sharp piece of glass that happened to be lying discarded by a bin, but he moment he turned his back, she'd reached down and snatched it.  So when he was laughing at her in such close proximity, she'd done the only natural thing and jabbed the shard into his side.  Of course, he'd screamed in shock and let go long enough for her to shove the glass even sharper into him.  He doubled over in pain, and she managed to reach for his pocket and salvage Ron's and her wand before turning a Stunning Charm on him and rushing over to Ron's now unconscious body.  Balancing her bag on her shoulder, she somehow got his body up enough to where she could drag it as she was now.

She was completely out of breath when she dropped him unceremoniously onto the sidewalk.  She didn't take even a second, though, to catch her breath before she started screaming to the people on the street.

"Someone help!"

Several people stopped and stared at the pair of teenagers, one of which was unconscious and bleeding from the head, and the other who was covered in bruises and hysterical.  

"Please!" she yelled desperately.  "Please, somebody help!"

Within seconds, two wizards had rushed over to survey the situation.  They said something hasty to each other and together, carefully lifted his body into the air and started carrying him toward the nearest shop. 

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked quickly, pushing her way through the crowd and rushing after the men.  Panic rose inside of her at the sight of strangers taking him somewhere unknown.

"Getting him out of the heat and away from the crowd," said one dismissively as they kicked open the door to Ollivander's and took him inside.  "Now get out of the way."

Hermione bit back the retort; if they were helping Ron, she wouldn't do anything to get in the way.  She looked up to see Mr. Ollivander hurrying out of his back room to see what the commotion was.  "What's going on?"

One of the two wizards started explaining the situation; Hermione gathered from the bits and pieces that she picked up that they were Healer assistants.  At this, she was comforted, and because she at least recognized Mr. Ollivander, she made a haste decision and rushed for the door.

"Where're you going?"  The man who had dropped down to his knees and was examining Ron looked up as she opened the door.

"I'll be right back!" she called quickly and dashed from the wand shop and down the street.

She couldn't remember ever running as quickly as she did right then.  Her mind was surprisingly clear, and she focused only on getting where she was going as fast as possible.  The sign outside of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was glittering as usual when she skidded to a halt in front of the double story store and burst through their doors.

"Fred!  George!"  She took in a great gulp of air and was prepared to call for them again, when they both appeared immediately in front of her.  Everyone else in the store stopped what they were doing and looked around at her to see who was making such a racket.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"  Fred stared at her with a look she wasn't used to seeing on his normally jovial face.  "Where did those bruises come from?"

Hermione looked from one to the other and struggled with how to tell them.  Finally, she realized that her brain wasn't working properly anyway, and she just blurted out, "Ron's hurt!"

Fred and George exchanged a look of solemn panic, and then George turned back to Hermione.  "Where is he?"

At this, Hermione lost her sanity and burst into tears.  All of the emotion she'd been feeling over the past hour seemed to explode, and she had to take several long steadying breaths before she managed to answer the question.  "At Ollivander's."

Fred turned around to one of the employees and said, "Julia, lock up the store."  Then he headed for the door in a half-fun; George grabbed Hermione's hand and followed.  Hermione was thankful that George was more pulling her down the street than forcing her to walk on her own because she wasn't quite sure if her legs were still working properly.

They reached the wand shop in no time, and they dashed into the store at full speed.

"Stay out!" barked one of the Healer assistants without bothering to look up.

"That's our brother," Fred said fiercely.

One of the wizards looked up and surveyed the new additions.  "Oh, good," he said shortly.  "St. Mungo's is sending an emergency van."

Fred and George still looked panicked, but they seemed slightly calmed by the actual sight of Ron.  "What happened?"  George looked over at Hermione quizzically.

She, however, could do nothing but cry, her on-end emotions still not soothed in the least.  

"Someone needs to get that little girl out of here," the same wizard who had yelled at them when they entered the store looked up at her with a look of disgust, causing her to do nothing except cry harder.

Fred jumped and put an arm protectively around her shoulder, a gesture she hadn't expected but that made her feel better nonetheless.  "You leave her alone," he shot back sharply.  Then he looked carefully at Hermione and said, "Do you know what happened?"

She took in several gulps of air and then managed to weakly make out the one word that terrified her.  "Cru...  Cruciatus."

There was an immediate silence in the room as all of its occupants stared wordlessly at each other.  Just as Hermione was sure that someone was going to ask her to elaborate, though, a large green van arrived out of nowhere just outside the door of Ollivander's.  The words 'St. Mungo's Emergency' were emblazoned on the side in bright pink.

Three witches rushed into the store, a stretcher levitating between them; Hermione recognized them as mediwtiches- the wizaring equivalent to Muggle paramedics.  

"Cause of injury?" asked one promptly; she was clutching a clipboard in one hand and a quill in the other.  

George glanced at his twin and then at Hermione before slowly repeating, "Cruciatus."

Once again, there was a silence, and all of the mediwitches looked momentarily stunned.  Quickly, though, she went right on with the questions as her two coworkers dropped to either side of Ron and carefully moved him to the stretcher.  "Cause of head injury?"

Everyone looked at Hermione, but she just shook her head and whispered honestly, "I don't know..."

They didn't ask her again; instead, the three witches just started levitating the stretcher out the door and to the van.  Fred, George, and Hermione rushed after them.

"Can we go with you?" Fred grabbed the arm of the witch with the clipboard, who Hermione now saw was wearing a name tag with Veronica on it.

"Only one," she said briskly.  "There's not enough room."

"You go on, Hermione," said George.  "We'll go tell Mum and then Apparate to the hospital."

She nodded wordlessly and moved to the back of the van where the other two wtiches were now climbing in behind the stretcher.  Veronica, though, stepped over and stopped her.  "Are you family?  Family only."

Not wanting to delay the process anymore, Hermione just shook her head and stepped backwards.  George, though, glared at Veronic and said, "She's his best friend.  Let her in the damn van."  His voice was harsh and cold and left no room for argument.

After hesitating a second, Veronica finally shrugged and said, "Fine.  But hurry up, we need to get back." 

Hermione nodded and then glanced once more at the twins; they both offered her half-smiles, but she couldn't force any sort of grin onto her face as she climbed into the back of the van with the others.

The van sped off almost immediately in what felt remarkably like travelling on the Knight Bus.  Hermione took a seat beside one of the other mediwitches, while the third carefully removed the makeshift bandage from Ron's forehead and examining the wound.  

"Can you answer some basic questions?"  Hermione looked up to see the mediwitch beside her, a young woman with the name tag Elle.  Hermione noticed that her accent wasn't British, though she couldn't concentrate hard enough to figure out which country she was originally from.

She nodded slowly.  "Yeah, yeah, I'll try..."

"Name?"

"Ron Weasley."  She glanced over at Ron, who was still unconscious.  "W-E-A-S-L-E-Y."

Elle nodded.  "How old is he?"

"Sixteen."  Hermione had stopped crying, but she was no less nervous than she'd been while standing in the middle of Diagon Alley.

"And what's his birthday?"

"Uh, March 1, 1980."

"What about allergies?  Is there anything he's allergic to?"

Hermione shook her head.  "I don't think so, but I'm sure.  His mum'll be at the hosptial soon, so you better ask her."

She was prepared to try her hand at the other questions, but the bus skidded to an abrupt halt.  The doors of the van flew open, and Hermione spotted the back of St. Mungo's.  She wasn't sure how the hospital was accessible like this from the van since the only other time she'd ever visited St. Mungo's, she'd gone through a deserted department store.  However, she didn't have time to ponder this, as the stretcher started floating toward the door, and the mediwtiches headed after it.  Hermione started to follow, but Elle turned around and offered her a sympathetic smile.

"They won't let you in the room.  No one but his parents until he wakes up."

Hermione frowned and strained to see the disappearing stretcher carrying Ron.

"Why don't you go have a coffee or something?"

Hermione shook her head and stepped out of the vehicle.  "No, I'll just wait for his family, I think."

Elle nodded.  "Okay."  Then she offered another half-smile.  "He'll be alright.  Fourth floor, okay?"

Hermione nodded and watched as Elle turned and hurried after her coworkers.  Hermione took a deep breath and entered the hospital; the help desk was in the front room, and Hermione ignored the long line of people sporting various maladies.  She headed for the staircase and climbed it slowly to the fourth floor.  

To her surpise, the waiting room of that ward was completely empty.  She took a seat in one of the plastic chairs and picked up a copy of this month's _Quibbler_.  She didn't really pay attention to what she was reading, which she was sure a bunch of rubbish anyway.  But it was something to hold her attention long enough until the stairwell doors burst open again, and Mrs. Weasley rushed in, followed by Fred and George.

Hermione stood up immediately and dropped the magazine to the floor.  Mrs. Weasley rushed over to her and gripped her arm.  "Is he awake?"

"I... I don't know."  Hermione suddenly felt like crying again.  "They won't let anyone in besides his parents."

Mrs. Weasley nodded; her face was as white as Hermione could ever remember seeing it.  She brushed a strand of hair out of Hermione's face and held it there, staring at the bruise on her cheek.  "Has anyone checked you over?"

Hermione shook her head.  "No, no, I'm fine."

Mrs. Weasley stared at her for another moment before nodding and swallowing.  She then hurried off after a passing Healer, apparently determined to find Ron's room.

Hermione sat back down with the twins.  They sat in silence for a few minutes until Hermione finally said, "Is Ginny still at the football match?"

"No, she got  back about an hour ago, but she has to wait until Dad gets home and can fix a Portkey.  The Burrow's Floo is only connected to a few other private residences, and it doesn't go anywhere public anymore."

Hermione hadn't know then.  "How did Ron get to Diagon Alley then?"

"He took the Floo to our flat."  George reached down and picked up the discarded copy of _The Quibbler.  _

They sat around and chatted about mindless things for a few more minutes until Bill arrived with Fleur in tow.  Hermione rolled her eyes despite herself.

Ginny arrived with her father soon, and Mr. Weasley rushed off immediately to find Ron's room.  Ginny took an empty seat next to Hermione and patted her knee encouragingly.  She didn't seem nearly as upset as Hermione would have expected.

"He'll be okay, Hermione," she said seriously.  "I would know if he wasn't."

Hermione didn't know what Ginny meant, but she was calmed a bit nonetheless.  She nodded and studied her shoes as a thought occurred to her.  "Did anyone tell Harry?"

"Yeah, I think Mad-Eye is going to tell him.  I don't know if he'll be able to come, though."

It was important for Harry to know.  Of course, he was likely to blame himself completely and fall even deeper into depression about things that he considered himself.

She wouldn't think about that now.

"I wonder when he'll wake up," said Ginny absently, tugging at a loose string on the hem of her shorts.  

Hermione shook her head and glanced around the room, her eyes falling on one person in particular.  "I don't know, but maybe they should send _Fleur _in there," she dropped her voice.  "Ron'd wake up for that, I'm sure."

Ginny snickered and kept her eyes adverted.  "Probably not as fast as he'd wake up if they sent _you in there."_

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and looked down quickly.  "Shut up, Ginny," she whispered, but a smile was threatening to play on her face.  Ginny knew certain secrets that nobody else did, and Hermione intended to keep it that way.  

Ginny grinned widely and nudged Hermione with her elbow.  "I speak only the truth."

Hermione kicked her.  Then they caught each other's eyes and broke into quiet giggles.

Two hours and a couple of cups of coffee later, Mr. Weasley reentered the waiting room; he looked very tired and exhausted, but his appearance immediately drew the attention of all the waiting room occupants.

"He's awake."

A collective sigh of relief sounded around the room.  Bill stood up, clutching Fleur's hand behind his back, and said, "Why was he knocked out for so long?"

"Well," Mr. Weasley sighed, "he had a head injury, too, and when the Curse hit him, he couldn't handle the mix of it and the blood loss."

"Right," said Fred, smirking.  "More like he pulled one of his attention-seeking stunts."

Everyone laughed in response; it was as though they were glad to have some sort of humor relief.

"You can go see him," said Mr. Weasley, still chuckling, "but try not to be too loud because Molly's about had it as it is."

Everyone nodded their understanding, and Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand.  Together, they followed everybody else down the hall to Ron's room; Hermione was suddenly quite nervous again.

They all squeezed into the tiny room; he'd been given a private room due to the seriousness of his injury cause.  Mrs. Weasley was sitting in a chair by the window, and Hermione couldn't help but notice that she looked as if she'd just been faced with her worst fear.  Ron, however, was sitting up in the bed and looking quite perfectly fine.  The bandage on his head was the only sign that anything at all was wrong.

"You stupid prat!"  Ginny let go of Hermione's hand and launched herself at Ron, wrapping him in a tight embrace.  "You better get out of here soon, or _I'll _have to degnome!"

Her brothers laughed, and Ron jerked out of her grasp.  "Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing at his head.  "I'm _injured."_

As the rest of his brothers took turns taunting him in that affectionate way that siblings had for each other, Hermione snuck another glance at Mrs. Weasley.  Her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was completely void of color.  She was staring at her children but without any sort of emotion on her face.  It was almost scary.

"You know Fleur, don't you?"  Hermione's head spun back so quickly that she almost cricked her neck.  Bill was apparently introducing his 'roommate' to his youngest brother.

"Oh, yes," said Fleur smiling.  "We met at 'ogwarts.  Do you remeember?"  Hermione scowled; her English _was getting quite a bit better._

Ron had an almost dazed expression on his face as he nodded vaguely.  "Yeah...  Yeah, I remember..."

Ginny snorted and gave Hermione just enough of a shove to make her lose her footing; she stumbled in surprise, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room, including Ron.

He stared at her for a moment and then said, "You alright?"  He was eyeing her bruises oddly.

She nodded quickly and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  "Yeah, fine," she mumbled quietly.

"Surprising, really," said Fred suddenly.  "Considering she hauled your heavy butt all the way back to Diagon Alley."

Ron stared at her in shock.  "_You carried me?"_

She shrugged indifferently.  "More sort of dragged, really..."

There was no time for any further inquiries because the door to the room opened again, and another visitor entered: Mad-Eye Moody.

"Everybody out," he said firmly.  "'Cept for you," both eyes spun to Hermione.  

The rest of the visitors did as Moody instructed; even Mrs. Weasley got up and left the room without protest.  Hermione had a very strong urge to follow them, but she didn't dare do anything except for exactly what Moody said.  She would be lying completely if she said she wasn't a _bit _scared of the ex-Auror.

"Sit," he said promptly, indicating the chair that Mrs. Weasley had been sitting in.  Hermione made a move to go to it, but Moody summoned it before she could even take a single step.  It shot across the room and stopped sharply right in front of her.  Without hesitating, she sat.

"Now, I want to know exactly what happened," he said gruffly, his eyes flittering between Hermione and Ron.  "And don't leave anything out."

Ron took the initiative to tell the story, and Hermione was surprised that he told it quite accurately.  She had a feeling that after a few more times of telling it, it would become insanely exaggerated.  He explained how neither of them remembered the actual kidnapping and how the Death Eater had tried to turn them against each other by using Cruciatus.  

"So, how did you get away?" Mad-Eye asked, eyeing them each at the same time when Ron finished the story.

"Um," Hermione swallowed slightly, "I stabbed the Death Eater with a broken piece of glass and then got our wands and Stunned him."

"You stabbed him?" Moody asked quickly, both eyes spinning around to Hermione, who found his gaze quite unnerving.  

Hermione swallowed nervously and nodded.

"Is he dead?"  

Hermione was horrified by the idea.  Shaking her head quickly, she said, "God, no!  I just stabbed him in his side so I could get our wands back.  I didn't kill anyone!"

Moody's face twisted up even more than normal.  Instead of being glad that she wasn't a murderer, he seemed mad.  "You knew the location of a Death Eater and you just left him there?  Why didn't you alert someone of his whereabouts immediately?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but found that she didn't know the answer.  

"That was incredibly stupid," Moody said harshly.  "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

"Hey!"  Ron had spoken up and looked completely shocked.  "We could both be dead if she hadn't gotten us out of there!"

Hermione was thankful for his comment, though it did nothing to calm her already frazzled nerves.

"Yeah, and you're damn well lucky you ain't," said Mad-Eye fiercely.  "What the hell were you two thinking, runnin' off all by yourselves?"

"We needed school supplies," said Ron defiantly.

  
"Well, somebody else'll have to get them now because you two ain't going nowhere until you go back to Hogwarts, you here me?  You're going with the Weasleys," he added to Hermione.  "I don't trust you where I can't keep an eye on you."

Hermione wanted to cry, and she didn't have the faintest clue why.  Maybe it was all of the day's events, maybe it was Mad-Eye's tone, maybe it was a mix of everything.  But she wanted to cry.

"Your folks are in Paris, no?" he asked, staring at her.  She nodded meekly but said nothing.  "Well, you'll go with Molly and Arthur until they get back, and then we'll get you to your house so you can get your things."

Hermione didn't have the willpower to do anything except nod once again.

"I'm going now," he said, watching them carefully.  "And don't let me hear of anymore stupid stunts like this one."

He left without another word, and all Hermione could do was pray that she would wake up in the morning and find out that the whole thing had been a nightmare.

********************************************************

A/N: I had more planned for here, but it was already long enough and I didn't want to bore you.

Feedback is appreciated!!!


	5. Lasting Marks

A/N:  Thank you, thank you, thank you for your feedback!  I'm glad that people are actually reading this story!

  
Disclaimer:  If I owned this franchise, you'd have a dead Hagrid in Book 5.  Nuff said?

************************************************************

It was raining.  Finally.

Harry stared out of his second story window and watched as the water droplets fell rapidly from the sky, soaking the perfectly manicured lawn below.  Aunt Petunia had been complaining about the lack of moisture, as her flowerbed was suffering greatly; she should be greatly pleased now.  The rain was heavy, littered every now and then with a flash of lightning or a loud clap of thunder.

Harry thought it suited his mood perfectly.

_Blast Mad-Eye Moody!  Blast all of them!_

The anger Harry was feeling was so heavy that he almost didn't know what to do with himself.  He hated the fact that he was holed up here on Privet Drive when they all knew perfectly well that he should be somewhere else.

  
Somewhere where the Death Eaters would go after _him _and not his friends.

Four days before while the Dursleys were visiting friends in the next town, Mad-Eye had shown up in his bedroom, startling him and causing him to knock of the bottle of ink he was using for his Transfiguration essay.  For a brief moment, he'd thought that they were finally letting him leave Privet Drive for the summer, but the grave look on the ex-Auror's face told him otherwise.  

_"Your friends were kidnapped by a Death Eater.  Weasley's at St. Mungo's."_

That was the way he'd been told that his two best friends in the entire world had just been kidnapped, tortured, and were now both at the wizarding hospital, at the time, one unconscious and the other nearly hysterical.  Looking back, he was positive that Mad-Eye could have figured out a less brutal way of telling him.  True, it was straight to the point, but it was also a very harsh reality being thrown at him out of nowhere.

Of course, Harry had done everything from begging to demanding that he be let to go the hospital, but Mad-Eye had flat-out refused.  After Moody left, Harry had even considered sneaking out of the house and taking the train into London for himself; however, he realized that there was probably a reason he wasn't be allowed to visit.

  
It didn't stop him from being more terrified than he could remember being in a long time.

Guilt was the main emotion he felt in those hours he was left in the dark, with no word from anyone at St. Mungo's about Ron's condition.  He just sat in his room, alone and scared, every possible bad situation running through his mind.  Anything that happened to Ron or Hermione was going to be inevitably his fault.  The current situation was no different because there was simply no reason for either of them to be kidnapped except for the fact that the Death Eaters knew who his friends were.

_His _friends.

_His _fault.

Finally, after what seemed to Harry to be an eternity, the telephone rang, and Harry had rushed into the hallway to answer it.  Normally, he wouldn't have bothered, but there was something telling him that this time the call was important, and it had turned out to be Hermione phoning from the street outside of St. Mungo's.

"Harry, it's me."  He didn't think he'd ever been so glad to hear her voice in his entire life.

"What happened?" he asked immediately, sliding to the floor of the upstairs corridor with the telephone in his lap.  "Is Ron okay?"

"He's fine.  He woke up about an hour ago, and the Healer said everything's going to be okay."

Harry let out a breath, relief rushing over him instantly.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she sounded extremely exhausted.  "The Death Eater didn't really do anything to me."

Harry swallowed a thick lump in his throat.  "Hermione, I'm sorry," he said out of nowhere.

She hesitated for a second.  "For what?"

"For everything," he said immediately.  "For acting like a prat and for being rude to you the other day on the phone and for... everything."

"Harry-"

"And I'm sorry about what happened today.  It's all my fault, and-"

"Harry, stop," she said firmly.  He stopped, noticing how incredibly dry his mouth was.  "It's _not _your fault."

He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling; he knew she would answer like that.  "Yes, it is.  You don't have to act like it's not."  She started to say something else, but he cut her off again.  "Just... I'm sorry, okay?"

She didn't say anything for a moment and then apparently just decided to give in.  "Okay."

He felt like crying, but it had been a long time since he'd let tears fall, and he wasn't prepared to start again.  Swallowing another lump in his throat, he said, "I wanted to come to the hospital, but they won't let me.  Is Ron mad at me?"

"Of course he isn't," she said briskly.  "He asked about you, though, but they told him you weren't being allowed anywhere yet.  He's the one that asked me to call you actually."

His heart lifted slightly.  He hadn't realized it until just then but his biggest fear had been that his friends wouldn't forgive him for putting them in the line of such danger.  To know that Ron was okay _and _that he wasn't angry made him feel a bit better.

"How long's he got to stay?"

"The Healer said probably a week, just to make sure everything's okay."

"Are you going home?"  

"No," she sounded a bit down by the answer.  "Mad-Eye says I have to go to the Burrow until my parents get back from Paris, and then I can go and get my things.  But I doubt I'll be allowed to stay there at all for the rest of the summer."

Harry would have given anything for Mad-Eye to show up and tell him that he had to go the Burrow for the rest of the summer, but then again, Hermione didn't live with the Dursleys.  Pushing aside thoughts of his relatives, he asked something else that was bothering him.  "How's Mrs. Weasley?"  The memory of her boggart from the year before, Ron's dead body lying in the middle of the floor in front of her, flashed through his mind.

He could tell that Hermione was faltering a bit, apparently disconcerted with the question.  "She's...  I don't know.  Quiet, maybe?"

The answer was cryptic, but Harry was pretty sure he knew what Hermione meant by it.  "Tell her I'm sorry, okay?"

Once again, Hermione just gave in to him.  "Okay.  But hey, Harry, I've got to go.  I think we're about to head back to the Burrow, and I still have to call my parents and tell them where I am, so they don't freak out if they call home and I'm not there."

He nodded, knowing fully well that she couldn't see him.  "Alright.  Thanks for calling and letting me know something."

"No problem," she said, her voice still sounding totally listless.  

"Tell Ron I'll write him as soon as he gets home and that I hope he gets better really fast."  

"I will."

He bit down on his lip.  "Yeah...  Bye, then."

"Bye, Harry."

That was the last time he'd actually spoken to anyone; owls had fluttered in from various people throughout the week, most of them from Hermione, though a few arrived from various other members of the Weasley family.  He'd gotten a letter from Professor Lupin the day before, expressing his sympathy about Ron's condition and answering Harry's questions of whether or not the _Prophet _reportershad been telling the truth with their stories about the Ministry dismissals.  They had.  And he'd received a letter from Professor Dumbledore, as well; it was very short and to the point.

_Mr. Potter,_

_          I understand that you are upset about the situations that have played out recently, most notably the events that took place concerning Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger.  It is important for you to remember, however, that because of certain cautionary reasons, you must not leave your aunt and uncle's house until further notice._

_          Hope your summer is pleasant._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

Harry had already made the decision that for once he would listen to what everyone was telling him and not sneak off to see Ron and Hermione.  After all, there was nothing that he could do, and he knew all too well now that Voldemort really was relying on his heroism toward those he cared about.

Still, though, he was worried, and no amount of uplifting messages was going to change that.  Until he could see for himself that his friends were okay, he was still going to be torn up inside; it was better to just accept it.

After all, things were probably going to get a thousand times worse.

**********************************************

"No!  You cheat!"  

Ron looked up at his little sister's outburst and flashed her an infuriating smirk as he started gathering up all the discarded chess pieces.  "You're such a sore loser."

"You're such a cheater," she said heatedly.  "I _had _you!"

He shrugged and leaned back on the pillows behind his back.  He moved the food tray that had been made into a make-shift table for the chess board aside and set it on the floor beside his bed.  Ginny thumped at the place where his knee was bent underneath his sheet when he shrugged indifferently and said lazily, "You should already know by now that you will never beat me."

She scowled.  "I've got to be nice to you now because you're injured, but if you weren't in the hospital, I would say something really nasty."

Ron laughed, knowing she was just being a brat, and she grinned at him.  Ginny was pretty cool most of the time; Ron had decided this when they were young children.  Of course, it hadn't stopped their hundreds of rows or her being a brat for all those years.  But she was okay, really.

"So, have you talked to Dean lately?"  Ron stared at her, watching her face carefully.  Ginny had apparently fallen in love with football after one match and now spoke of it frequently, her statements always threaded with _"and Dean said this... and Dean said that..."_

She nodded brightly, though, apparently not concerned at all that Ron was debating at that very second how he should kill his Muggle-born roommate.  "Yes, and Mum says he can come over in a couple of weeks, after you get out of here and everything."

"Why do you want him to come over?"  He stared at her pointedly, his voice extremely accusatory on purpose.

However, Ginny just sent him an innocent little smirk and said, "I reckon the same reason you can't wait to get out of here and be at the Burrow with Hermione."

He would have slapped her if his mother hadn't chosen that exact moment to enter the room, her arms full of packages, which she dropped onto the bed between Ron and Ginny.

"Who're these from?"  Ron stared down at the various items and then looked back up at his mum.

"Fred and George."  She started fussing with Ginny's hair and continued even as Ginny ducked away irritably.  "But it's just candy, I've taken out all of the dangerous items."

Ron wasn't positive that _anything _from Fred and George could be considered safe; however, a nice batch of sweets did sound good, and he reached into one of the bags for a chocolate frog.

"They said they'll try to get over here this afternoon, but they're getting really busy at work."  It almost amazed Ron how his mother could speak of Fred and George's business so nonchalantly now.  It seemed as if she'd changed quite a bit in the days following Ron's kidnapping.  "Ginny, what is _wrong _with your hair?" she asked exasperatedly, trying desperately to smooth it into a straight part.

"Stop, Mum," said Ginny with a slight scowl, once again ducking out of her reach.  "I like it like this."

Rolling her eyes, their mother decided to stop fiddling with her daughter's hair and start fiddling with Ron's bed coverings.  He would have protested, but he knew it would be in vain.  His sheets would inevitably be 'distracting' or 'constricting' or something else horribly wrong; it was better just to let her have her way.  

"I'm going to go up to the coffee shop for a bit.  Do you want to come, Ginny?"  Their mother finally finished fluffing Ron's pillows and looked to her daughter.

  
Ginny shook her head.  "No, I'll just hang out here for a bit."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"No, thanks.  I'll just eat whatever Ron's got," she peered into the bags of sweets.

"Okay, I'll be back in a little while.  Do you need anything, Ron?"

Ron was getting seriously sick of her fussing, but he just shook his head.  "No, I'm fine."

She nodded and disappeared, closing the hospital door behind her.  Ginny reached for one of the bags and started rummaging through it.  "I'll be glad when you get out of here, so she stops being neurotic."

Ron snickered and unwrapped another chocolate frog; after a glance at the card, he tossed it aside and bit into the head.  Their mother was leaning even more toward the neurotic side than normal, staying at the hospital from dawn to dusk every single day and fussing over Ron as if he were a toddler; it was rather annoying actually, but the Healer had said he should be out within a few days.  Ron and Ginny sat on his bed, eating sweets and joking for a bit longer until there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Ginny called, as they both looked toward the door and stared in disbelief at the visitor.

"What do you want?" Ron asked bitterly as the middle Weasley brother, none other than Percy himself, stepped into the room and carefully shut the door behind him.  It had been over a year since Ron had last seen his brother, and he noticed immediately that Percy seemed quite a bit older than he had the last time he saw him.

"Hello," he said nervously, pushing his glasses up his nose as he timidly crossed the room and stood a few feet from the bed where his youngest siblings sat.  "I heard about what happened."

"Nice of you to show interest four days after _The Daily Prophet _first reported it," said Ginny haughtily.  "Even _Charlie _managed a visit, and he's in Romania."  Ron was surprised, as Ginny had always been the one to get along best with Percy.

"I've been busy," he said quietly, a hint of shame on his face.  "And I didn't know if I would be welcomed anyway."

"Well, you're not," said Ron firmly, surprised that he didn't feel even a tiny bit guilty at the hurt look on his brother's face.  "So, if you don't mind, I'm tired.  Please leave."

Percy stared at him for a moment and then nodded slowly.  "Yes, okay."  He made no move to leave, though, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered a bit.  "I just want you to know that..." he took a breath, "that I'm sorry."

"So?" Ginny asked, staring at him without the smallest bit of sympathy.  "That doesn't change anything; you still betrayed us."

Percy opened his mouth and then closed it again.  "Virginia," he said, his voice now turned businesslike with the use of her real name, "there are things you don't really understand, I'm afraid."

"I understand plenty," she said hotly, standing up and staring up at her older brother with a fire in her eyes that she usually reserved for prying Slytherins.  "I understand that you're a prat and that you're a traitor and that..." she took a breath, still glaring, "and that Ron doesn't want you here, so leave."

Percy watched her as she spoke, his face blank and unwavering except for the single blink he gave when she was finished.  Instead of responding to her, though, he turned his attention once again to Ron.  "I sent you a letter last year after you made Prefect.  Did you receive it?"

Ron narrowed his eyes, the memory of what was written in that letter flooding back to him.  "Yeah, no thanks to your precious _Umbridge's _mail watch."

"You didn't reply."  It was a quiet observation, meant as a question of explanation.

"No," said Ron with a shrug.  "I didn't feel much like wasting my ink telling you to fuck off."

Percy blinked again, though he didn't really seemed surprised by Ron's response.  Any other time, he would have chided his younger brother's use of language, but perhaps he realized that he had lost the privilege to scold.  "It was meant as congratulations."

"It was meant as a way to tell me that Harry's a lunatic and that I should follow your footsteps and turn my back on everyone who's ever meant anything to me."

Percy was quick with a defense, though.  "There are still questions surrounding Harry Potter's sanity.  I was looking out for your best interest."

"Go away," Ginny said loudly; Ron was thankful because he somehow didn't think that getting into a fist fight would speed his recovery along at all.  "Nobody wants you here."

There was another moment of silence, and then Percy said, "Where are Mother and Father?"

"Mum's upstairs getting a coffee because she spends all her time here, unlike other members of the family who apparently don't give enough of a damn to even send a card until nearly five days later," said Ginny snidely.  "And Dad's at work.  Perhaps you see him there; of course if you do, you probably just walk right past him and pretend not to notice him.  But," she said with fake sincerity, "you probably won't see him much longer, as your wonderful Fudge is going to sack him any day now."

"I don't have any control over what the Minister does," he said firmly.  "He is only doing what he believes to be right.  We should support our government and its decisions."

"Get out of here!"  Ron jumped at Ginny's shout and watched with mild amusement as she started shoving their older brother toward the door.  "And while you're at it, why don't you just go straight to hell?"

Percy held a hand to the doorway to prevent her shoving him into the hall and said one last thing in Ron's direction.  "I'm sorry you feel that way.  I hope you recover soon."

Ginny slammed the door in his face.

************************************************************************

Hermione was, by now, quite used to using the Portkey that Mr. Weasley had set up for her and Ginny.  It took them directly from the Burrow to St. Mungo's without forcing them to take any of the slower Muggle routes or without having to reconnect the Floo to the public grates.  

She'd been with the Weasleys for four nights now, sleeping in the extra bed in Ginny's room.  The twins' room was now unoccupied, but Mrs. Weasley had turned it into a makeshift sewing/mending room; she'd offered to clear it out for Hermione, but that hadn't been necessary at all.  Staying with Ginny was perfectly fine.  Of course, she was looking forward to the next day when her parents would return from Paris and she could go and get her own things.  Ginny's clothes fit her alright, but Ginny was smaller and shorter; Hermione had joked the first morning that she would be happy if she could get her toe into a pair of Ginny's shorts.  She'd told her parents that she was staying with the Weasleys because Ron had been hurt; she made up a story about a broomstick accident because telling them that she and Ron had both been kidnapped would certainly cause them to insist that she not return to Hogwarts.  And there was _nothing _that was going to keep her away from the wizarding world now, not after all she'd been through.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had left earlier for the hospital, but Hermione had said she would meet them later, as she was waiting on an owl from Harry.  They'd been writing more over the past few days than they'd been conversing for the entire summer.  He had, as she expected, sent a letter and even sent a small package for Ron.  

Before she went up to Ron's room, though, she decided to stop into the coffee shop and grab a cup of tea, as it had been hours since breakfast.  She climbed the stairs to the very top and went into the large room, which was littered with carts and tables.  Hermione bought a cup of tea and paid one of the vendors before glancing around at the tables; she spotted the back of Mrs. Weasley's head at one of them and crossed the area to join her at the table.

"Hi," she said cheerfully, sitting down in one of the unoccupied chairs.

  
Mrs. Weasley looked up at her voice and smiled.  "Hello, dear.  I was wondering when you were going to join us."

  
"I was waiting on Harry's owl."  She held up the small parcel.  "He sent something for Ron."

"That's nice," she said, sounding extremely tired and exhausted.  There were bags under her eyes, and she looked as if she hadn't slept in days; she probably hadn't.  "I'm sure Ron will be delighted."

Hermione nodded, sipping at her tea.  "Has the Healer said anything new?"

"He said it should probably just be a couple more days or maybe three at the most."

Hermione smiled, a good feeling settling into her stomach beside the tea.  "I can't wait until he gets out."  She felt her cheeks heat up as she realized she had just been so blatantly obvious about _things _in front of Ron's _mother.  _She busied herself with her tea immediately, not even caring that she was all but draining it in one drink.

"It means a lot to him, you know," said Mrs. Weasley, covering Hermione's hand with her own.  Hermione looked first at the hand and then up at her face and saw that she was giving her a very appreciative, warm sort of smile that made Hermione a little less embarrassed.  "For you to come out here so much.  He might not say it, but it's important to him."

Hermione set her now almost empty teacup down and shrugged her shoulders slightly.  "Well, he's my best friend."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, her eyes giving away the fact that she knew much more than she was saying.  "I know he is, dear."

Hermione didn't know what else to say, so she simply drank the last sip of tea and started to stand up.  "Well, I'm going to go down now.  I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley nodded vaguely and took a long slow sip of her coffee.  "I'll be down in awhile."

Hermione reached Ron's room a few minutes later and was surprised to see Ginny leaving the room just as she got to the door.  "Hey," she said in surprise, stepping back so Ginny could get into the corridor.

Ginny returned the greeting and glanced at the package.  "What'd you bring him?"

"It's from Harry."  She shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno what it is."

"Guess who just showed up," said Ginny, a strangely bitter look on her face.

"Draco Malfoy," said Hermione with a laugh, thinking Ginny was on one of her dramatic spills.  She was.

"Worse.  _Percy."_

Hermione certainly hadn't been expecting that.  "Did your mum see him?"

Ginny shook her head.  "No, just us.  I kicked him out, the stupid prat."

"What did he want?"  

The younger girl shrugged.  "Probably just to make an appearance, pompous asshole that he is."

Hermione wanted to tell Ginny that she shouldn't talk about her brother like that, but she somehow couldn't force herself to.  She might not have used the exact wording that Ginny had, but she definitely agreed that Percy was a prat.

"Anyway, though," continued Ginny.  "I think I'm going to go upstairs and sit with Mum for a bit."

Hermione nodded and watched as Ginny disappeared up the corridor before pushing Ron's door open and walking into the room.  Ron was sitting up and messing with the dial on the Wireless Wizarding Network that had been set up by his bed.  He looked over at her when she entered, the dial stopping on some horrendous song that sounded more like a dying cow than music.

"You really need to listen to Muggle music," she said teasingly.  He rolled his eyes and switched off the radio.

"What did you bring me?"  He grinned at her and nodded at the small package she was holding.

"It's from Harry," she said, crossing the room and settling onto the edge of his bed as he scooted his legs over to give her room.  "He just sent it."

He took the box from her and opened it, staring into it with mild amusement.  "Have you ever tried these?" he asked, holding up a Mars bar.

Hermione leaned over to get a better look inside of the gift and shook her head.  Harry had sent what appeared to be the entire candy aisle of a Muggle grocery store; she wondered idly where he'd gotten the money.  "You're going to rot your teeth out," she said in a reprimanding tone that reminded her of her dentist parents, as she eyed the pile of Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and Pumpkin Pasties lying on his beside table.

He shrugged carelessly and continued digging through the box.  He pulled out all sorts of Muggle sweets, and Hermione watched on with a hidden smile as he studied them all, never having tasted them before, she realized.  

"Those are good," she said, abandoning her previous scolding stance and eyeing the package of M&M's he was now pulling out.  "And those, too," she said, pointing out the cherry flavored Twizzlers.  "Ugh, I don't like those," she said, wrinkling up her nose at the Snickers bar, "Too many peanuts."  Ron laughed, and she looked at him strangely.  "What?"

"_You're going to rot your teeth out," _he mocked.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said haughtily, "Well, you _are.  _But I know you won't listen to me, and anyway, my parents can fix them if they do rot out."

Ron grinned at her and slit open a pack of Skittles.  "Hmm," he said popping one into his mouth.  "Fruity."

Hermione laughed at his reaction and held her hand out expectantly.  He poured her a handful, and she ate them one at a time, a habit she'd developed when she a preschooler; not that she'd been allowed _too _many sweets when she was younger, but they hadn't been completely forbidden, despite the fact that both of her parents were dentists.  

"Percy came by," he told her through a mouthful; he apparently didn't follow her example of one at a time.

"Yeah, Ginny told me."

"He's such an idiot," Ron said, more to himself than to her, she suspected.  "Do you know that when Ginny mentioned Dad getting fired, he _still _defended Fudge?  _And _he apparently _still _thinks Harry's a nutter."

Hermione frowned, trying to imagine how awful it must be to feel such betrayal by your own brother.  "Some people just don't get it," she said sympathetically.

"Well, he should," Ron said bitterly.  " He _knows _Harry, and Dad is his... father!"

She wasn't too sure what to say.  She couldn't really think of anything, so they just sat in silence for a few minutes, eating the candy that Harry had sent until she thought it finally safe to change the subject.  "Your mum told me that the Healer said you only have to be here for a couple more days."

He nodded, brightening considerably.  "Yeah, two or three at the most!"

She smiled broadly.  "That's great!  You can come home and save me from Ginny!"

"Huh?" he laughed, not even knowing what she was talking about but apparently already finding it amusing.

Hermione groaned and shook her head with a sigh.  "She's trying to make me teach her how to play football.  She's using one of the balls you always practice Quidditch with, and she keeps bugging me to help her."  
  
Ron snickered loudly.  "She must want to impress _Dean.  _She says she's going to have him over sometime this summer."

"Good," said Hermione firmly.  "_He _can teach her since it's all his fault she's suddenly become obsessed with it."

"Ginny always does everything obsessively.  There is no slow beginning for her about anything; she's always been that way."  
  
Hermione knew this was true.  Ginny was just the type of person to throw herself full force into something out of nowhere; it was impossible for her to just simply like or enjoy something, no, she had to _love _it.

Ron dumped another handful of candy into her palm and said, "You're parents are getting back tomorrow?"

She nodded and popped an orange Skittle into her mouth.  "I don't know who's going to take me home to get my things, but I'm pretty sure I'll have to have an escort.  Hopefully it won't be Moody," she said darkly.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and get Tonks."  She certainly hoped so and nodded as he continued, "And, by the way, who's taking care of Crookshanks?"

"I had to call my next door neighbor and ask her to look in on him and feed him and everything.  She didn't sound too pleased by the suggestion, but she agreed anyway."

He snickered.  "I wouldn't be too pleased, either."

Hermione slapped playfully at him, but as her hand grazed his arm, she noticed something.  "You've still got the welts," she observed quietly, staring at the reddish outline that she knew was his own leftover from that night back in June at the Ministry.  

Ron faltered and tugged unconsciously at the sleeve of his t-shirt.  "Yeah," he said with an overly-exaggerated air of dismissal.  "It won't go away."

She stared at him for a moment before lowering her eyes and quietly saying, "Mine, either."

"Really?"

She nodded and lifted the hem of her shirt just enough to show off the large purple mark that she had finally stopped referring to as a bruise.  Bruises didn't last over a month; in fact, the bruise on her cheek from the kidnapping was already starting to fade, and that had only occurred a few days before.  She looked up at Ron and saw that he was staring at her stomach; when he seemed to sense her gaze, he looked up with an odd sort of expression on his face. 

"That's really weird."

It was a very nondescript response, but somehow it fit perfectly; Hermione couldn't have agreed with him more.

************************************************************

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	6. Revelations

A/N:  Here's chapter six!  Thanks to everyone who is enjoying this story so far, hope this chapter suits you well!

Disclaimer:  Not mine!

*********************************************

On Ron's first day back from the hospital, he was greeted warmly by everyone.  Ginny even seemed to want to be nice for a change, and Hermione hadn't nagged him a single time all evening about his lack of completed homework.  His mum had cooked his favorite dinner, and he'd retired to bed feeling quite satisfied and pleased with his return.

However, when he woke up sometime around one in the morning and found himself trying any method he could think of to get back to sleep, he realized that maybe all the resting he'd done at the hospital hadn't been such a wonderful thing after all.

He stared at the ceiling of his room, counting the paint chips that were separating themselves from the roof.  When he got to eighteen, he lost count and started over again.  When he got to eighteen a second time, he realized how stupid his task was and stopped.

He tried to clear his mind but was reminded of the Occlumency lessons that Harry had taken the year before and decided that he didn't really want to do anything that would even remotely remind him of the reason Sirius was now dead.

Counting sheep was his next idea, but he found this useless when he couldn't picture a single sheep nor lamb.  He attempted to count Golden Snitches, which he could see quite clearly in his mind's eye, but they all started blending together in some wild and mixed-up Quidditch game that required too much of his brain to keep up with and, therefore, was pointless.

Sighing loudly, he sat up and stared into the semi-darkness of his bedroom.  The moon was coming in through the window, and he noticed that the light rain, which had been falling for almost two days now, had gotten a bit heavier and could be heard pounding on the roof of the house.  His eyes glanced around and rested on the empty camp bed that Harry normally occupied; he missed Harry and had written him straight away after getting home, telling him how much he hoped he could come to the Burrow soon.  It really wasn't fair for him to be stuck there at Privet Drive when Ron couldn't see why he wouldn't be equally as safe here.  After all, if the Burrow wasn't a safe place, they certainly wouldn't be allowing Hermione and himself to stay there, would they?

Thinking of this, of course, drew his mind to Hermione.

He sighed again and leaned back against his pillows, resigned to think once again about his _other _best friend.  It was strange, really, how easily his mind drafted a picture of her; of course, he _did _draw the image up quite a lot and had been for the better part of the past couple of years.  It wasn't his fault, though, that she'd somehow managed to set up a place of permanent residency inside of his mind's eye.

Having her at the Burrow was nice, but, at the same time, it also managed to cause him major distress.  It was stupid, he reasoned, that he could live with her for ten months out of the year but somehow feel strange when she visited him during the holidays. The first summer they'd spent any time together had been before third year, but she'd only met his family in Diagon Alley; he hadn't really been forced to quote-un-quote _'live' _with her.  She came over the summer before their fourth year a few days before the World Cup and stayed until school went back to session.  This had been a summer of many revelations for Ron; he snickered as he thought about the list he'd actually made that summer.

_Revelation Number One:  Hermione is a girl.  (And not just a mate who happens to be female, but a _real girl).

_Revelation Number Two:  Hermione has boobs.  (Small, but there all the same)._

_Revelation Number Three:  Hermione is extremely irritating.  (No _real _revelation here, as it's been known for three years.  Still, it's always worth repeating)._

_Revelation Number Four:  Hermione seems to whisper with Ginny quite a bit.  (Note to self:  Steal Ginny's diary).  _

_Revelation Number Five:  Hermione has boobs._

Okay, so there were _some _things that caught his attention more than others, but he was a fourteen year old boy so who could really blame him, honestly?  But still, despite what he'd 'noticed' about Hermione during the summer, she was still basically just the same old girl he'd known and been friends with for all those years before.  It wasn't until they'd gone back to school that term (quite namely, the middle of the year when a certain Bulgarian child molester had tried to lay claim) that Ron had really _noticed _Hermione.  There was a lot more there than just a know-it-all with curly hair.

There were boobs.  And straight, small, even teeth.  And the possibility of silky smooth hair; of course, you apparently had to be several years older than her and foreign to get her to show this off, but Ron wasn't _noticing _or anything...  But above all of that, there was something else that Ron couldn't quite put his finger on.  Whatever it was, though, it drove him crazy and made it incredibly difficult to look Hermione's direction without blushing.

And then came the summer to end all summers: the holidays between their fourth and fifth years.  They'd both been sent to Grimmauld Place only two weeks into the break, and a month and a half was a _very _long time to spend together.  Especially when Ron had _noticed _so much about Hermione the past year.  He found it very hard to be too close to her or be alone with her; conversations were often stuttered and sometimes avoided all together.  But when they hadmanaged to hold a decent conversation, it was almost like they were... _flirting _with each other.  Ron knew this was silly, of course, but he didn't really know what else to call it; it wasn't like anything they'd ever done before.  There were shy smiles and good-natured teasing and private jokes and playful little nudges, and it had been, well, it had been nice.  And the school year had included much of the same, only when they were alone, of course, but they happened to have plenty of alone time together, what with all the Prefect duties and everything.  

And now Hermione was acting much the same as she had during all those little private times.  She was being nice to him, and he was returning the gesture, mostly because it just seemed like it was time to stop bickering with her and move onto... something else.  He wasn't sure what exactly it would lead to; he knew, of course, what he would have _liked _it to lead to, but he wasn't completely sure she would like the same thing.  Sure it _seemed _like maybe she was feeling the same way, but it was impossible to be sure.  And he was quite positive that there could be nothing more humiliating than assuming she felt one way and finding out that she felt another.

There were just so many things he liked about her.  He liked her smile and her eyes.  He thought her curls were cute, especially when they got just a bit too out of control; her hair, all wild and frazzled, seemed so completely opposite of her neat and organized self that it was almost humorous.  He liked her laugh, and he liked _making _her laugh.  He loved the way she was so insane about certain things, like house-elves' rights and Arithmancy.  He always enjoyed her when she gave up on rules and just turned so sneaky; her fake crying performance for Umbridge had to be one for the books.  He was completely awed by how totally brilliant she was and sometimes caught himself thinking up random questions to just throw at her for no other reason than to see if there was anything she _didn't _know.  Hell, he was even starting to find her incessant quoting of _Hogwarts, A History _attractive.

With a groan he hadn't meant to really exalt, he finally just threw his covers aside and stood up.  Thinking about Hermione was definitely _not _the best method for him to go to sleep with.  If he kept it up for too much longer, the thoughts would turn into something else entirely and, quite frankly, he just wasn't up for it right now.  He noticed how terrible that sounded and couldn't stop his brain from registering just how easy it would be for him to _get _up for it, but he chided himself immediately.  It was thoughts like _those _that had made living in the fifth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory quite painful.  And the fourth years'.  And a bit of the third years'... 

A bottle of butterbeer was starting to sound very good, as he noticed that he was suddenly quite thirsty.  So, after throwing on a pair of socks from his bedroom floor and cricking his neck a bit, he went downstairs to the kitchen.  He got a surprise, though, when he entered the room and found it lit by a single lamp and saw his mum sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her and her face in her hands.

"Mum?" he said in surprise, and he momentarily forgot about the drink and went to sit down at the table in the empty chair to his mother's right.

She looked up, shocked, at his voice.  "Ron!"  Her voice sounded strange, weak and yet falsely fine at the same time.  Her face was red, and she rubbed quickly at the corners of her eyes.  "What are you doing up?  It's the middle of the night."

He stared at her for a long moment before answering.  "I couldn't sleep."

"Oh," she said, with that same fake air of cheerfulness.  "You must have woken up because of the rain."

He shrugged and studied her closely.  "Mum, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said, taking a sip of her tea.  Her hands were shaking.

"Why are you up?"

"Oh," she said airily, "I don't know.  I guess I'm just so glad that you're finally home."  She looked at the table and seemed to find something on it incredibly interesting.

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not..." she took a slow, staggering sort of breath, "... crying."  And at this, her face twisted slightly, and tears started forming all over again.  She tried to brush them away, but it was useless.

Ron had never really known how to deal when his mother was upset; she was, after all, his mother, and that in itself seemed to make her invincible.  To see that she wasn't so invincible was actually quite frightening.  "Mum, what's wrong?" he asked again, watching as she dropped her face back into her hands and cried some more. 

It took her a few moments to answer, but she finally managed to get out what Ron was pretty sure said, "I just... worry."  She sniffed loudly and looked up, rubbing furiously at her eyes as she struggled to get her crying under control.  "I worry about everything."

Ron watched her wordlessly, still completely at a lack as to what he was supposed to be doing.  Luckily, for him, though, she seemed to actually be glad that someone had caught her crying and was ready to spill her reasons without being prodded much further.

"Your father's..." she sniffed again and shook her head as if doing so would rid her of the tears, "Your father's in trouble at the Ministry."

It was the first time she'd admitted it, but Ron found the normal resentment strangely absent.  Instead, he simply said, "I know."

She stared at him, perhaps in surprise that he already knew or perhaps waiting for an explanation of _how _he knew.  When he gave none, she wept on.  "And I, I have to worry about all of you."

He started to tell her that they, meaning himself and his siblings, were all fine, but she just carried right on.

"Bill's a very capable man, and I know that, but it's so hard when he's... he's doing dangerous things."  She looked up at Ron and shook her head slowly, "He's doing some awfully dangerous business right now, and maybe you don't know that."  He didn't, but he didn't inquire.  "And Charlie, I always worry about Charlie.  Those dragons and now the Order and he's _so far away."  _She sniffled loudly and started rocking back and forth slightly.  "And Percy..."  Here a small sob escaped her throat, and she pressed her hands to her mouth for a moment.  "I don't know why Percy hates us so much."  She started crying loudly now.

Ron's first instinct was to tell her that Percy was a senseless piece of shit, but he somehow didn't think that was what she wanted to hear.  "Mum, he doesn't hate-"

She shook her head and cut him off, talking through her tears.  "Yes, he does.  And I don't know why, either, because all I've ever done," another sob, "... all I've ever done is try to love him.  I tried to love _all _of you."  She broke off crying again, and Ron felt more hatred for Percy than he would ever have thought possible.  "And the twins..."  Here came a hopeless sort of humorless laugh.  "They don't know how to take care of themselves at all.  They _think _they're all grown up, but there's so much they never learned about _being_ grown up.  And I tried to teach them, I really did."  She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.  "But they were always so interested in mischief and pranks, and... and I know I was too hard on them, but I only wanted them to be the best that they could be."

"But they're _fine, _Mum," Ron said earnestly, speaking for the first time in a few minutes.  "They're doing really well."

"Oh, I know," she said with a shake of her head.  "I'm very proud of them for being so successful with their business, honestly I am.  It's just that they're so careless and don't really know anything about taking care of themselves.  I'm afraid they'll wind up in trouble, and I just want them _home.  _But I know I can't want that anymore because they're all grown up now."  She was rambling by this point, her tears fading but her voice still strained.

Ron was starting to get very antsy, anticipating which child's turn it was for her next spill.  Surprisingly, though, she made a jump.

"And I worry about Ginny constantly because she's going through so many different things right now, and it's so _hard _to be a fifteen year old girl."  Ron wanted to say that it was incredibly hard being a fifteen year old boy, too, but he somehow didn't figure she was looking for an interjection.  "She's turning out to be so beautiful, and I just worry because... because maybe she doesn't know how to handle all that comes along with that.  And she won't talk to me about it because she thinks I don't understand, but I _do.  _I really, really do."  Again, she was rambling.  "And she's got all these boys chasing her round, and I don't know anything about any of them!"

Ron bit down hard on his tongue to keep from stating his opinion of the situation.

"And you..."  She looked at Ron, and once again, tears sprung to her eyes.  "I have to worry about you most of all."

"No, you don't," he assured her at once, not wanting to be the cause of any more of her tears.  "I'm fine."

"No, you're not!" she said loudly, and then crumpled again, crying for a long moment.  "You were just kidnapped by a _Death Eater!  _You don't know the things that go through a mother's head as she has to sit there and watch her _baby _lying unconscious in the hospital."

He opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, but she cut him off and rambled right on.

"And that's not even the first time.  Ron, you've been hurt _so _many times," she said helplessly.  "Every summer it seems like you come home hurt or just getting over an injury, and this year, it wasn't any different.  Nobody even knew what was wrong with you, and we just had to _wait _for you to wake up to see if you were okay.  Do you have any idea how scary that was for me?  Ginny was hobbling all over the place on a broken ankle and Harry was off God knows where probably trying to drown himself in guilt and you were knocked out in the hospital wing and there was Hermione the exact same way in the very next bed!"  She threw her hands up and then spoke quietly.  "It was horrible."

"But we're all okay," he said softly.  

She stared at him and shook her head slowly as if there was just so much that he didn't understand.  "I never wanted this for you," she said seriously.  "I always prayed you wouldn't have to ever know what it was like."  He didn't know exactly what she was talking about, but she carried right on, her voice now quiet and a tad bit eerie.  "You don't remember because you were too young, just a _baby.  _Bill and Charlie remember, Percy knew it a bit.  But you and Ginny and the twins, you don't remember.  It was so scary..."  Her voice trailed, and Ron realized that she was talking about the first time You-Know-Who had been around.

"Mum-" he said slowly, trying to convey that she didn't have to tell him, as it was obviously very painful.  She held up a hand, though, and composed herself slightly.

"It had gotten so bad that by the time you and Ginny were born, we felt guilty about bringing you into that.  It was horrible, never knowing who would be next or where they would strike, terrifying and just awful...  And then it was just over one day."  Here, she looked off into space for a minute and then back at Ron.  "Just like that.  I woke up one morning and was making breakfast and the post owl brought the paper.  And there was the main headlinesaying that two more people had died, but You-Know-Who was gone.  And I was so _happy, _two people were dead, but I was happy because I thought you'd all actually get to grow up without the fear.  I never wanted any of you to have to experience that, so I was _happy."  _She took another moment of silence and stared into her teacup before quietly adding, "I had no idea that you'd grow up to be best friends with the only child of those two people who died that night."

Ron stared very hard at the table, avoiding his mother's gaze and her terrible look of sadness.

"Do you remember, when you were younger, the stories we used to tell about that night?"  Ron nodded without looking up.  "I remember one time, Bill had you and Ginny outside, but I could hear through the kitchen window.  He was telling you about the Boy Who Lived."  She smiled just a tiny bit, Ron noticed through the upper part of his lids.  "You were _tiny, _couldn't have been more than three or maybe four.  And you started laughing and said that one day you were going to be best mates with him."  Ron felt his face grow warm, embarrassed for some reason that he used to idolize the Boy Who Lived like everyone else.  "Bill laughed, of course, and so did I.  It was cute, you know; we had no idea you were being serious."

She started twisting one of her shoulder length curls between her fingers and took another moment.

"And then when you _did _become friends with him, I worried that he would be snobby or too caught up in his fame, but he wasn't."  Ron shook his head and picked at a loose chip of wood in front of him.  Harry had never been like that.  Ever.  "And you liked him so much, and your father and I were so happy because we know you had it rough around here being the youngest boy.  You always wanted someone your own age that wasn't Ginny, and you finally had _real _friends, and I was so happy for you.  And then you came home from your first year at Hogwarts, just bursting to the rim with stories about all these 'adventures,' as you called them.  I worried because you came home bruised and beaten up, but you seemed so happy that I didn't see how it could _really _be all that dangerous.  And then you left again, and when your second year was over, I was terrified.  Ginny came home a million times more fragile than when she left, but you said you were okay.  So I trusted you.  Then when you came home for the third summer, you'd just gotten over a broken leg, and I couldn't even drag the details of the year out of you.  And then when you were in your fourth year," she bit on her lip and let out a breath, "everything changed.  _He _came back, and I knew things would never be the same again.  Everything I'd wanted for you all was gone in an instance, and I realized that you were going to know how horrible it could be and probably in a far more personal sense than I could even protect you from."

Ron didn't know what to say, so he just said the first thing that seemed reasonable.  "Mum, I'm not a little kid anymore- none of us are."

She looked up at him and studied him for what seemed like a very long time before pursing her lips and nodding.  "I know," she said quietly.  "You haven't been for a very long time."

"And I'm fine.  We're all fine."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead she just nodded again, very slowly.  "You are."  Standing up, she steadied herself on her feet for a moment before going to the sink and placing her teacup into it carefully.  "I need to sleep now.  I love you."  She kissed his forehead and left before he could return those or any other words.

***********************************************************

Hermione had gotten lucky.

When her parents had arrived back from their Paris trip the day before, it had _not _been Alastor Moody who escorted her back to her home via Floo Powder.  Mr. Weasley had actually taken the afternoon off to accompany her; she suspected that it was in case her parents had any questions.  Luckily, he hadn't gotten angry with her when she admitted to leaving out several rather large details about the reasons she would need to stay at the Burrow.  In fact, he'd given her parents a smooth story himself, stating how Hermione was always welcome and how his youngest son was just getting out of the hospital and would enjoy her company ever so much.  Her parents had smiled and agreed, hugging her and making her promise to write soon, and she'd packed her trunk full of all her things and scooped Crookshanks into his basket, then stepped back into the fire and gone back to the Burrow.

So, for the second night in a row, she was sleeping in her _own _nightclothes, something for which she was eternally grateful.  In fact, she'd never enjoyed the sigh of her own clothes that much before in her life.

It was sometime well into the middle of the night when she woke up to the sound of pounding rain outside.  The bedroom was dark and silent except for the quiet breathing of Ginny in the next bed; Hermione knew she was fast asleep and wouldn't be waking up despite the loud storm outside.  In the moonlight-lit room, she could make out Crookshanks sleeping at the foot of the camp bed where she would be spending the rest of the summer.  He was curled into a ball and slumbering just as heavily as Ginny seemed to be.

Hermione was more than aware of the chill in the room, and she snuggled further under the covers, pulling the blanket tighter to her chin.  For some reason, she was wide-awake and had no idea why.

Just then, though, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs from above.  Realizing that Ron must have been awake, too, she debated going to meet him in the hallway.  However, his steps passed her, descending to the floor below, most likely to get something to eat from the kitchen; she decided that if she happened to be awake when he came back up, she'd stop him then.

She was _so _glad that he was finally home.  Being at the Burrow with just Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been a bit odd; she felt comfortable with them, but she couldn't help but feel a little out of place.  Now that Ron was here, though, it was as if she had a _reason _to be there.  

It had been a tough week for her, reliving the memories of Ron clawing at the concrete, his face twisted in pain as the Cruciatus Curse cut through him sharply.  She'd been terrified and hadn't recovered much since then.  In all truthfulness, she still hadn't completely gotten over the night spent in the Department of Mysteries, and she'd been knocked out for the large majority of the horror.

She'd woken up the next morning in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey fussing over her, but all she could see was Ron lying in the bed next to hers, just as unconscious as she'd previously been, with Harry nowhere in sight.  When no one had given her the answers she was looking for, she'd quickly gone into hysterics and been given a sedating potion from the nurse.  That afternoon, when she woke back up, Ron had been the one to fill her in on everything that had happened; he'd been the one to tell her that Sirius was dead, having just been informed himself a few hours before upon his own waking up.  She hadn't believed him at first, but she knew deep down that he wouldn't lie to her.  And she'd cried then, and he'd hugged her and told her that things would be okay, even when he knew they would never be truly okay again.

That was the thing about Ron- he could be the world's biggest prat on some occasions and the nicest person she knew on others.  It was mostly when they were alone, just the two of them, that he was so completely nice.  In fact, over the past year, she'd watched him grow up a lot.  And she liked it.

She liked _him._

It wasn't something she'd noticed one day out of the clear blue; no, she'd been watching him for years.  She'd observed him through all of their school years and knew that he'd matured a lot, even if he didn't _always _show it.  In fact, she'd started wondering what he truly meant to her a long time ago, started seeing the possibility for something more and waiting on him to notice it. 

She was fairly sure that he had, indeed, noticed by now.

She wasn't stupid, far from it, in fact.  She was definitely not blind to the fact that Ron had been jealous, yes, _jealous _of Viktor Krum during their fourth year and hadn't forgotten his newfound hatred during their fifth, either.  If he'd been telling even the remotest bit of truth about thinking that Viktor was after information on Harry for the Triwizard Cup, he would have absolutely no reason to still hold onto the dislike once the competition had ended.  And he had.  Every time she'd even so much as _mentioned _Viktor's name, Ron had gotten all huffy and demanded to know why she was still in contact with him.  Of course, she never really did her best to fan out his suspicions, never denying any of his accusations, just simply leaving out several key details.

Like the fact that she was not, in any sort of way, attracted to Viktor Krum.

He was nice, yes, and he was also very intelligent.  But he was a lot older than she was, and she just honestly didn't find anything at all cute about him.  She wasn't shallow or anything like that, but she couldn't imagine dating someone that she wasn't even a little attracted to.

And there were quite a few things that attracted her to Ron.

Like the way his hair flopped into his eyes when he was actually working intently on an assignment (most often the morning it was due).  Or the way he sometimes would lose himself in boredom and start chewing on the end of his quill, only to realize he'd mistook an actual feather for a Sugar Quill.  She loved the way he could make her laugh, almost turning anything humorous, even it wasn't always appropriate.  And he had a set of dimples that she'd noticed on her first train ride to Hogwarts and hadn't stopped noticing them for five straight years.

She was old enough to start thinking about people romantically, and she felt quite mature enough to be starting up relationships.  She was, after all, nearly sixteen years old, and her object of choice had already passed his own Sweet Sixteen several months before.  No one could claim that they were too young or anything like that because they weren't.  In fact, if Hermione's gossip knowledge was correct (which she was sure it likely was, considering news traveled around Hogwarts faster lightning), she and Ron were the only two Gryffindors in their year who _hadn't _been involved with someone in one way or another.  Well, except for Neville, but that was to be expected really- not that he wasn't a _lovely _person, mind.  Lavender and Seamus had been snogging in secret (and not so secret) places ever since fourth year, though neither of them would admit to dating.  Parvati had gone round with four boys so far, none of her 'boyfriends' lasting more than a month at most.  Dean had Ginny now, obviously, but he'd also dated a Ravenclaw fourth year named Helen Kelsey for three months toward the beginning of fifth year.  Harry, while being a _bit _behind the others, had still managed to kiss an older girl and had taken her on a (rather unsuccessful) date.  Ron and herself, though, fell at the bottom of that list, and she thought it was about high time they did something about it.

Of course, there were a thousand reasons why they would never, _could _never, possibly work out, or at least that's what everyone else would say.  They were opposites of each other, having nothing in common really.  She bossed him too much, and he spent too much of his time doing nothing but trying to piss her off and annoy her.  They'd grown up in completely different worlds and didn't have any sort of family similarities between them.  And, oh yeah, there was that one minor rather _major _problem of them being best mates.

What if they _did _decide they wanted to take their relationship one step further, and then they broke up.  What then?  Would they be able to just go back to being friends like they'd always been?  Were they even _supposed _to?  What if they couldn't even bear to speak to each other or be in the same room?  She didn't think she could handle that.

But, then again, the hugest part of her brain was screaming that it was time to take some action.  She wanted Ron and had wanted him for a long time; there was no denying that.  And if there was ever a time to get what she wanted, it was now.

Six days before, she'd been kidnapped and forced to watch her best friend being tortured.  A month and a half before that, she'd known death for the first time in her life.  What was going to happen a month from now?  Six months?  A year?  Who was going to leave her next?  Who would she have to witness being tortured in the future?

She didn't have the faintest clue.

  
In fact, the only thing she did know was that it wasn't over, nor would it likely be for awhile.  She was in danger, all of her friends were in danger, her whole _world _was in danger.  And she wasn't going to stand by wasting time when there were things she just _knew _should happen.  After all, she'd never been one to sit back and watch things happen; she was the one who _made _things happen.

Footsteps once again sounded in the hallway, and she strained her ears to see where they were headed.  Surprisingly, though, this pair didn't continue up the staircase to the attic bedroom; this pair stopped on her landing and disappeared down the hallway toward Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom.  Wondering why either of them would be up at this moment, she sat up and Crookshanks stirred sleepily before glaring at her through the darkness and leaping down and scurrying under the bed.  

Another set followed, shortly, this one passing this landing and continuing upwards.  Ron was going back to his bedroom.

Struck with a sudden sense of urgency, Hermione got up and followed.

When she finally reached the top landing of the house, Ron had already disappeared into his room and shut his door to the hallway.  When she saw it, she almost considered backing down, but something somewhere inside of her was Gryffindor, and she knocked softly instead.

It took a moment for Ron to answer the door, and when he did, he stared at her with slight confusion.  After a moment, though, he said, "Oh, I thought you were my mum."

It wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for, but she shrugged nonetheless and said, "I'm not."

Another moment was spent with him staring at her oddly, and she suddenly felt very uncomfortable standing in front of him wearing nothing but her summer pajamas, which consisted of a tank top and a pair of cotton shorts; she was just thankful that she was wearing her _own _clothes and not Ginny's because that would have been even more embarrassing.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, still watching her carefully.

She shrugged again and lamely said, "The storm woke me up."

He finally tore his eyes away from her and looked slowly toward the window where the rain was pounding against his window pane.  "Yeah, it's bad, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty bad."  _The weather?!  _That was the best they could come up with?  The bloomin' _weather?_

There was a very long and awkward pause in which they both just watched the rain.  Finally, though, Ron cleared his throat and held the door open a bit wider.  "Well, you can come in... I guess," he finished, addressing the floor instead of her.

Taking in what she hoped was a silent breath, she stepped inside his small bedroom.  For a moment, it seemed he didn't know what to do, but then he apparently decided that it was alright and shut the door.  "How did you know I was awake, too?"

"I heard you on the steps," she said, leaving out the part that would incriminate her for actually _waiting _on him to come back up after she heard him go down.  "Figured you probably couldn't sleep, either."

"Uh, yeah," he shook his head.  "I mean, yeah, no, I couldn't sleep, either."

Hermione suddenly realized she'd come up here without any sort of a plan.  She'd sort of figured that things would just play themselves out, as they were, after all, close friends.  However, it was quite clear to her that neither of them could currently bring themselves to say much of anything, nothing logical anyway.

"Wow, the storm's getting worse."  She immediately cursed herself for thinking of something that sounded so incredibly stupid.  

"Yeah, but I reckon we need it, huh?  Been really hot around here."

"Yeah."

They were met with another silence in which they each took to staring at the storm again.  Finally, Hermione decided to do what she'd come up here for.

She was going to tell Ron... something.  She _had _to because she certainly had not wasted her energy climbing those stairs to talk about the stupid weather!

"I'm really glad you're home."

There.  That was something, right?  

He moved his gaze away from the window and met her eyes.  He faltered for a moment and then softened a bit.  "Thanks."

And then Hermione burst into tears.

She had absolutely no idea why she was crying or where her emotional discord had stemmed from.  This wasn't _right.  _No, this was wrong, wrong, _wrong!_

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Ron looked slightly panicked and took a nervous step forward as if to comfort her; he stopped short, though, and just stared at her.

"I don't know!" she said honestly, covering her eyes with her hands and feeling totally appalled that she was _crying _of all things!

Ron didn't know what to do, obviously, so he just stood there and watched her.  He had the appearance of a person who would rather be _anywhere _than where he was at that exact moment.

Hermione felt positively awful.

"This is _stupid!" _she said, infuriated with herself.

"Er," said Ron oddly.  "What's stupid?"

"This!" she said, angry that he couldn't read her mind.  "I'm _happy _that you're okay, so why am I crying?"

"I don't know," he answered, totally befuddled.

"Me, either!"  And then she cried harder.

"Um, Hermione."  Ron looked away and then back at her, raising an eyebrow in confusion.  "Don't you think maybe you ought to go to sleep?"

She realized that he thought she was hysterical from lack of rest.  For all she knew, he could probably be right.  Still, though, she shook her head and sniffled loudly, trying to get her crying to slow down.  When she could breathe properly again, she shook her head once more and said, "I just wanted you to know."

"Know what?"

How was it humanly possible for one person to be that incredibly _thick?  _Didn't he have three years of Divination behind him?  Shouldn't he have at least learned _something _from all those useless lessons?!

"That you're my friend."

Her answer surprised her, and she realized she didn't really have the courage to say anything else.  She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn't force herself to, not with the risk of breaking down into sobs again.

Ron was silent, and she suddenly grew very embarrassed.  He must think she was incredibly stupid for coming up here to tell him that; in fact, he probably thought it was _hilarious.  _

"I already knew."  His answer caught her off-guard, and she stared at him, her eyes clearing and the tears stopping, leaving only a sticky residue on her cheeks as reminders.

"What?" she whispered.

"I said I already knew, you didn't have to tell me."  He offered her what she knew to be a rather shy smile.  "But I'm glad you did."

"Really?"  She managed to smile back, wiping the last of her tears away.

"Sure," he shrugged and sat down at his desk.  "I mean, we've always been friends, right?"

"Yes," she said decisively.  "Always.  Even when we fight."

"We don't _really _fight that much, do we?" he asked, looking up as she perched herself on the edge of his desk and let her legs dangle into the air.  "I mean, not really, really."

She thought about the question for a moment and leaned back on her hands.  "No.  Not really."

He nodded, and they were silent.  Suddenly, though, she was talking again.  "I mean, we used to fight more, but I think we grew up a bit."

"Yeah, so now it's more like..." he grinned, "friendly taunting."

She grinned, too, and stared down at her lap.  "I really am glad that you're okay."

She expected Ron to reply, but instead he just snickered.  She looked up to see him staring at her feet, which were dangling close to his shins.  "You _painted _your toenails?"  He met her eye, obviously very close to teasing her.

Hermione looked down at the sparkly polish and then frowned at him.  "Your _sister _did.  She was bored, and I'm nice."

He laughed again.  "_Pink, _Hermione?"

"Oh, shut up."  She lifted one foot and kicked him in the chest with it.  Laughing, he grabbed it and held it close to his face, examining the glittering pink polish that Ginny had begged her to experiment with.

"You're such a girl," he said, still holding her foot.

She rolled her eyes and primly said, "Nice of you to notice."

"I notice."

She looked at him abruptly, and felt her throat tighten when she saw that he was being rather serious and definitely not stuttering around to cover up his flub, as they so normally did when something like that slipped out.

"You do?" she asked quietly, and her foot dropped back down to dangle from the desk.

He nodded, just the very slightest tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks.  Hermione wanted very badly for him to say something, but he stayed silent.  It was then that she noticed something.    
  
Very softly, she said, "You've got dirt on your nose."  It rang a bell in the back of her head that this exact sentence was one of the first she'd ever spoken to him, and she leaned forward just a bit to wipe at it.  It turned out to be dust and swiped away rather easily.

She didn't lean back up straight away, and for a long moment, they were silent, staring at each other with their faces just inches apart.  It was at this time that Hermione felt her newfound Gryffindor courage diminish, and before either of them could say a word, she'd sat back up and slid off the desk.

"Well, goodnight then."  She sounded odd even to herself, but as she started toward the door, Ron stood up and relinquished back into the playful mode he'd been in a little bit ago.

"What?  Don't I even get a goodnight hug?"  He grinned at her and held his arms open.  "I've been in the hospital for nearly a week, and all I get is a-"

She cut him off and walked back to him.  She still didn't know what was controlling her actions, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.  She felt his arms go around her waist and tried very hard not to get distracted.  

_Do it, _she told herself firmly, her brain giving up on logic momentarily.

And before she could lose her nerve again, she pulled him down just enough and pressed her lips very quickly to his own.

Without giving him an opportunity to even process what she'd done, much less comment on it, she let go of him and bid him goodnight in a very businesslike manner.

And with that, she marched straight out of his room and back down to Ginny's.  The younger girl stirred slightly when she shut the door, but Hermione couldn't focus enough to be quiet.  Her mind was reeling, and she felt...  Well, she didn't know how she felt.  Part of her was relieved, and part of her was terrified.  She didn't know what Ron was thinking or what he would say in the morning.  Actually, she didn't even know if he would _talk _to her in the morning.  Oh well, she would worry about that later.

As she climbed back into bed and closed her eyes, she had just one major thought.

_Revelation Number One:  Being a Gryffindor really does pay off sometimes._

_**********************************************************_

A/N:  Okay, so there it is.  I know it's not anything close to the way that they finally got together in "When Things Start to Change," but this is a different story.  Different story/different sort of actions.  For anyone who might think that this happened too quickly, I want to explain my view on it.  I think that even though we didn't actually see what was going on between them during _Order of the Phoenix, _that Ron and Hermione came to several conclusions about each other.  I think they both realize and know that the other realizes as well, hence the way this played out here.  Just thought I'd give you a bit of info!

Feedback is appreciated and adored!!!


	7. The Proper Way of Doing Things

A/N:  Thanks a million times to everyone!  Here's the update!

Disclaimer:  All JK's, not mine.

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Ron woke up the next morning and immediately noticed that his head was swimming.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly, had his emotions in such high drive, but he felt as if he were somehow feeling enough for ten people.  The sun was shining very brightly through his window, and he turned away from it, pulling his blanket tighter to this chin.  As he did this, though, he realized that the sun must have come out after the major storm the night before.

And remembering the storm made remembering everything else very easy.

He remembered going downstairs and seeing his mother at the kitchen table.  He thought about all of the things she'd said last night and felt horrible that she was feeling all of those things.  He'd come back up to his room with the intention of pondering all the worries and everything she'd confessed to him, but he had soon got distracted.

_Very _distracted.

When Hermione had shown up at his bedroom door dressed in her tiny little pajamas, he'd quickly forgotten that he'd even seen his mother a few minutes before, much less been able to remember what she'd said.  

Ron felt something in his stomach tighten as he remembered the way she'd burst into tears for no good reason and then switched quickly to giggling and playful.  That was just like a girl; he couldn't even begin to fathom the way they worked or why they had to be so damn emotional all the time.  Hermione had remarked once that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon; if that were true, then he would measure her emotional range to be the size of a swimming pool.  

He remembered most of their conversation accurately, the way she'd gone on and on about how she was so glad he was okay and how she was happy that they were friends.  He remembered her agreeing that they didn't _really _fight all that much, just bickered and occasionally exchanged, what did he term it, friendly taunting.

And then her toenails.

Those sparkly, girly pink, unbelievably _adorable _toenails.  And he'd teased her and accused her of being too much of a girl; she'd rolled her eyes and remarked that it was nice of him to notice.  And, of course, he'd opened his big, stupid mouth and told her that he already noticed.

Damn, did he notice.

He still wasn't sure why she'd switched from discussing her toes to wiping dirt away from his nose, but he was most certainly sure what the little jump of his insides in reaction to her touch meant.  When she'd been leaning into him, her face just a few inches from his, he'd wanted so badly to do so many things he had never dared before.

But then, just like that, she was sliding off his desk and bidding him goodnight.

Ron had recovered rather quickly from his mini-fantasy about what exactly he'd like to do while she was sitting there on his desk in front of him; he'd stood up, too, and asked for a goodnight hug, if for no other reason than to be able to touch her again.

He definitely hadn't expected her to kiss him.

His heart sped up at the mere memory of it, and he rolled over to his stomach and buried his face into the pillow.  She had _kissed _him.  

And not on the cheek, either.

Of course, it was possible that she had _meant _to kiss him on the cheek and simply misaimed.  If this had been the case, though, surely she would have looked horrified and embarrassed and apologized immediately, if for no other reason than to express that it had been an accident.  She hadn't done any of that, though; she'd simply nodded her head once and said, "Goodnight."  

And then she'd left.

It had taken Ron forever to drift off to sleep after that.  What was she playing at, just running off like that?  Didn't she know that he was in total shock and having major trouble believing that she'd actually put her lips on his?  

She put her lips on his.

She _kissed _him.

Hermione.

Not even bothering to fight the silly little smile that was occupying his face at the thought of her.  He didn't know what to make of her half the time, considered her slightly insane, and didn't even _try _to figure her out the majority of the time.

But still...  God, she was just perfect.

It hadn't even been a very engaging kiss, just barely a peck and that was it.  And his lips were still burning.

He'd wanted to kiss her for so long, wanted to do so much for so long, that he couldn't quite grasp that she'd actually done it.  Truthfully, he'd always expected that it should be him who should make the first move, but apparently, she was a bit braver than he was.  She'd gone and done it and now it was done.

Maybe it was a sign that he should take the _next _step and actually do something about it.  Perhaps it was a test to see if he had the guts to do anything else.

Well, if she wanted guts, she'd get guts.

There was one thing he knew for certain.  Now that she'd kissed him, he was damn well going to kiss her back.  And the sooner the better.

But what was the best tactic for going about this plan?

He couldn't very well go downstairs and kick Ginny out of her own bedroom and then snog Hermione senseless.  Could he?  No, of course not; Ginny would never go for that.  But then again, he couldn't very well ask her to come back up to _his _room because that might appear a bit sketchy, and if not sketchy, definitely desperate.  And he did _not _want to appear sketchy.

He'd just have to play it by ear.

Yes, that's right.  By ear.

Feeling quite confident with himself, Ron rolled out of his bed and stood up, shivering in the morning chill.  He could do with a shower, as he certainly didn't want to make his move on Hermione and stink at the same time; he somehow didn't think she'd enjoy that too much.

Grabbing some clean clothes from the pile on his floor where his fresh laundry lay, he hurried down to the bathroom, resigning himself to _not _think about Hermione for the moment.

Naturally, this did not work because his life, after all, was one big irony.  Hermione just _had _to be leaving the bathroom at the exact same time Ron reached it, and he cursed the Fates under his breath.  Of course, the first time he would see her after she kissed him would be in the early morning when he had neither brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put on clean clothing, or bathed.

She started slightly when she saw him, and he was pleased to see that she seemed at least a little uneasy, as she glanced down the hallway in what he knew was an effort to avoid making eye-contact.

  
"Um, good morning," she said, her voice breaking oddly.

  
Ron remembered the goodnight she'd given him the night before and hoped for many repeats.  Not voicing this hope, though, he replied, "Yeah, mornin'."

"So, ah," she seemed to be thinking of something to say.  "The shower's free."

Ron stared at her for a moment and saw that she was still quite intent on not making any sort of eye-contact with him.  Instead of commenting on this, though, he simply nodded and said, "Yeah, okay."

And then he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.  It amazed him to no end that his heart was racing the way it was.  After all, all she'd said was good morning and that the shower was free.  Why did his heart feel like it was going to explode out of his chest at any moment.

Hermione had already been dressed and ready for the day, and Ron hadn't missed the fact that she'd apparently dressed for a _hot _day.  He figured that she must have seen the bright shining sun and planned on a rain-free and rather warm day, as she'd been dressed in just a pair of denim shorts and a yellow shirt that was just bordering on being too short.  Of course, he wasn't _complaining _or anything, but her ensemble certainly made talking to her like a normal human being a bit more difficult.

After a considerably cold shower, Ron, too, dressed for the day, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and finishing off his outfit with a worn pair of trainers.  After all, there was nothing really better than plain old simplicity.  He brushed his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair until it was only damp and not soaking anymore, and then he went downstairs to breakfast.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to get used to the kitchen being so quiet in the morning.  He'd grown up as one of seven children and actually hadn't even understood the _meaning _of quiet until five of them were out of the house.  

His mum was at the stove and smiled at him when he walked in; it was a warm sort of smile that told him she was a little more okay than she'd been the night before.  "Eggs, dear?" she asked kindly.

Ron shook his head and sat down at the table beside his father.  Ginny and Hermione were strangely absent.  "No, thanks.  I'm just going to have toast."  He reached for a couple of slices and started buttering them when his father spoke.

"So, did you sleep well?  You didn't have any problems, did you?"

Ron knew that his dad was only concerned because it had been his first night out of the hospital.  He glanced at his mother, who shook her head just slightly.  "Uh, yeah, it was fine."

"Well, that's good," his dad continued.  "If you have any problems we're supposed to let the Healers know."

"No, I'm okay," he said dismissively and then tried the sly approach.  "So, where's Ginny?"

"Have some juice, dear," said his mother firmly, filling his glass with orange juice.  "And she and Hermione are outside playing football."

Ron nearly choked on the sip of juice he'd just taken.  "_What?!"_

"Yes," said his mum with a slight grimace.  "They've been out there for a bit now; I can't believe Ginny finally talked Hermione into it."

"_Hermione _is teaching Ginny to play _football?"  _It really couldn't be true.

"I suppose so.  That's what they said anyway.  Are you sure you don't want any eggs?"

"No, I'm all done, thanks," he said quickly, wiping his mouth and dashing for the door that led to the backyard.  

The scene before him was not one he was sure that he would ever likely forget.  It seemed as if his mother had been telling the truth, and Ron suddenly forgot everything else, as he didn't know whether to be completely amused or strangely turned on by the sight of Hermione, indeed, playing football.  It was definitely something to look at...

"Ron!" Ginny shouted, "Think fast!"  And she kicked the ball right at him; out of instinct, he caught it and stared at it as the girls ran over to him, both of them giggling like mad.

"Great catch!" said his sister as she panted for breath and put her hands on her knees.  "You'd make a great goaler."

"Goa_lie," _said Hermione, still giggling.

  
"Oh, right.  Goa_lie," _Ginny said nodding.  

"Where the hell did you get this from?" Ron asked, staring down at the football in his hands.

"Dad got it, I don't."  She shrugged and held her hands out.  "Now give it back, so I can practice."

"Ginny, you've completely lost it," he said seriously.  

"I haven't, either," she said defiantly.  "Football is the number one Muggle pastime, isn't that right, Hermione?"  Hermione nodded, a smug look on her face.

"You aren't a Muggle," he said, staring at her with raised eyebrows.  "You're supposed to like _Quidditch."_

"I can like whatever I want," she said, straightening up and snatching the ball away.  "Besides, Dean's not a Muggle, and he _adores _it."

"Oh, screw Dean," Ron said, scowling.  

"Who's to say I haven't already?" said Ginny dismissively, and with that, she took off back across the yard, leaving both Ron and Hermione stunned in her wake.

When Ron finally managed to close his mouth after his jaw dropped nearly to the ground, he started sputtering.  "She... she better not've..."  

"She hasn't," said Hermione briskly.  "But it wouldn't be your business if she had," she added with another confirming nod.  

Ron opened his mouth to tell her that it damn well _would _be his business, but then he realized that Hermione would probably tell him off if he said that.  So, instead, he just glared slightly and then said, "I thought you didn't remember much about football anyway."

"Turns out I do," she said with a shrug.  "And Ginny's quite good, by the way.  I need to go back," she swung her head in the direction of his little sister who was now doing something entirely silly looking that involved bouncing the ball from one knee to the other.  "You can play, if you want."

Ron's first thought was to roll his eyes and say that he had much better things to do, but then he considered the possibility.  So far, he had _never _been able to even get Hermione up on a broom, much less get her involved in any sort of Quidditch scrimmages.  There was something strangely attractive about girls and sports, and if this was the closest thing he was going to get to an actual sport, he was willing to take the opportunity.

"Okay then," he said nonchalantly, even adding an unbiased shrug of the shoulders.  "It can't be that hard, right?  Just kick the ball and that's it."

Hermione grinned.  "Yeah, pretty much."

He followed her back across the yard where Ginny picked the ball up and stared at him.  "So you're playing then?"

He shrugged again.  "Why not?"

Ginny eyed him very peculiarly for a long moment and then glanced once at Hermione before rolling her eyes and mumbling something.  Ron chose to ignore her very obvious snide remark and said, "So, what do I do?"

"You catch this," said Ginny and immediately swung her foot at the ball and kicked it roughly to him, catching him totally off-guard and hitting him hard in the stomach.  The breath left him in one swift movement, and he clutched at it.  "On second thought," she said airily, "maybe you wouldn't make such a great goalie."

Ron wondered what god hated him so much that he couldn't have been an only child.  Glaring at his sister fiercely, he reached down and picked the ball up, thrusting it straight at her and catching her directly in the stomach as well.  She hissed and grabbed the ball, shooting him an extremely hateful look.  

Hermione stood to the side, seeming quite amused by the situation.  "Here's an idea," she said breezily.  "How about we just kick the ball and _not _actually play?  Here, Ginny, pass it to me."

Ginny, still scowling at Ron, set the ball down and kicked it in Hermione's direction.  Ron watched fascinated as she easily stopped it with her foot and kicked it to him.  Going on instinct, he followed what she had just done and kicked it back to Ginny.

They went on like that for awhile, running around the yard and kicking the ball back and forth to each other until Ron actually started thinking that maybe football wasn't all _that _bad, though it still had nothing on Quidditch naturally, and since they weren't even playing for real, he couldn't really judge it accurately.

About an hour into their game, though, the backdoor opened, and their mum stepped outside.  "Ginny!" she called loudly, halting the game, as all three teenagers looked toward the door.  "Ginny, I need your help in here!"

Ginny grumbled something, and Ron found himself smirking.  It was her own fault that she was now expected to help out in the house; after all, she'd been pretending to enjoy it for the entire summer.

"I'll help," offered Hermione, looking at Ginny.

  
At her words, though, Ron shook his head.  "No, don't."  Both girls looked at him strangely, and he realized how incredibly stupid he'd just sounded.  Rushing to cover up his slip, he said, "You know, Ginny's the one who's been lying and acting as if she _likes _helping out."

Ginny rolled her eyes and marched toward the house looking entirely pissed off.  Hermione, however, just stared at him.

"What?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

"You should be nicer to her.  She was really worried when you were in the hospital, you know."

The last thing Ron wanted was to be dealt a guilt trip regarding Ginny.  "Look, she's my sister; we have to act like that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Besides, I wanted to talk to you."  Ron considered this a very brave move on his part.

Of course, Hermione somehow managed to play it all smooth and just looked expectantly at him.  "About what?"

Ron knew perfectly well that him saying, _'Oh, about the fact that you _kissed _me last night,' _was about as ludicrous as anything he'd done so far in his entire lifetime.  Instead, he settled on, "Oh, you know, anything.  Just general stuff."

She seemed to know that he was being rather blasé about everything, but luckily, she didn't comment.  She just nodded her head and said, "Okay."

  
"Want to go down by the pond?" he asked, a little too quickly.  It was, in his opinion, the best spot in the yard because it was far enough away from the house that it was impossible to see.  

"Yeah, sure," she said airily and followed him down the hill to the pond where he'd spent so many days during his childhood swimming playing.  "This must have been fun growing up," she said, as if reading his mind.

He nodded, feeling more and more nervous by the second.  "Yeah, it was."

They sat down on the bank, which was damp and soggy from last night's storm.  It didn't matter, though, as both of them were sweaty and now covered in mud from their impromptu game of football.  Ron couldn't help but think that dirty Hermione was just a tad bit cute.

Okay, a tad bit was an enormous understatement.

  
Come to it, actually, cute was an understatement as well.

Ron wanted a bit more of the small talk, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about anything; everything just seemed so stupid and pointless.  He wanted more than anything just to get to the point, and he realized far too late that his mouth apparently left without his brain.

"So, what was last night about?"

_Oh, god, _he thought immediately.  _Way to be subtle..._

Hermione turned a nice shade of pink and stared out at the water; she appeared to be chewing on the inside of her cheek.  Her answer came a very delayed moment later.  "I didn't mean to start crying."

She spoke calmly as though her statement was completely rational, as though it made perfect sense and answered his question quite well.  

"I'm not talking about the crying," he said quietly, following her lead and gazing out over the pond.  It was easier when they weren't looking at each other.

"Oh?" she said casually, a little _too _casually.  "What are you talking about then?"

Was she actually going to make him spell it out?!  Ron suddenly felt his courage diminishing and had to literally force a reply.  "You know what I'm talking about."

She didn't answer, just looked at the water as though she'd never seen it before.  Finally, she said, "No, not really.  A lot of things happened last night, so I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific."  Ron could hardly believe that she could be so... _Hermioneish _about the whole thing!  Was everything business to her?

Giving up on his roundabout questions because he was so completely irritated with her, he finally just blurted it out.

"I'm talking about when you kissed me!"

He forced himself to look over at her and found that she had not so much as flinched at his words, though her cheeks were now bordering on red.  Her eyes were very wide, and she seemed completely enthralled by the water, leaving Ron to wait for what seemed an eternity for a response.

"Oh, that.  Yes, I did."  She seemed so casual about it that Ron almost worried that she didn't think it was that big of a deal at all, a thought that scared him because it was such a totally _huge _deal to him.

"I know you did," he said, through slightly gritted teeth.  "I want to know _why."  _He was surprising himself by being so forward, but he realized that he was definitely not going to get any sort of help from her.  It seemed to be up to him.

"Why?" she repeated, still not catching his eye.  "Oh, you know, just... because, well, you know."

"No, I bloody well _don't _know!" he said loudly, finally losing all of his patience.

  
Hermione jumped slightly at his outburst, and her gaze finally left the water, only this time to focus on the ground below her.  She picked at a blade of grass and said, "Well, you _should _know," very quietly.

  
Ron let out a very aggravated breath and grabbed her forearm, forcing her to at last look up and make eye-contact with him.  She glanced first at his hold on her arm and then at him; he was pleased to see some uncertainty there.  "Well, I don't," he said flatly.  "So, if there's something you want to tell me, you should tell me."

_There, _he thought triumphantly, _that should settle everything._

To his surprise, though, Hermione yanked her arm out of his grasp and fiercely said, "_You're _the one that's supposed to be doing the telling.  That's _your _job."

"Says who?" he asked defiantly.

"Says everybody!"  She narrowed her eyes at him.  "That's the _proper _way to do it, and if you were polite at all, you would know that."

He was dumbfounded by the fact that they had switched so easily into arguing mode.  Still, though, he wasn't about to give up.  "Yeah?  Well, I guess I'm not polite because I think that's stupid!"

  
"Of course you would!" she said irritably.  "You don't care at all about the way things are _supposed _to be done!"

"And how is that, Hermione?"

"_You _were supposed to kiss _me _first!"  She looked on the verge of crying.  "And _you're _supposed to be the one who says you like _me!"_

Ron suddenly felt very bad, and he felt all urges to continue their argument fade away.  Very, very quietly, he did what he considered to be a very, very brave thing and said, "I _do _like you."

Hermione stared at him, her eyes still watering.  For a long moment, she said nothing, and then she said, "Really?"

He felt his face heat up, but he knew he'd already gone and started it; he couldn't very well leave it without finishing it.  Nodding, he said, "Yeah.  I do."

A grin crept across her face, and she blinked away the unshed tears.  

He didn't know what force was driving him, but he decided to follow her advice, to an extent anyway.  Without pausing to think about what he was doing, he leaned in and kissed her quickly, drawing back almost immediately in much the same manner she'd done the night before.

"Is the second kiss okay?" he whispered.  "Sorry about the first..."

She bit down on her lower lip and smiled shyly.  "You can try it again," she said softly.  "Because practice is a very important fundament in perfection.  It helps to build on past mistakes and improve-"

"You talk too much-" he mumbled before pressing his lips back to hers again.  This time, though, he didn't pull away immediately; he let his lips linger there for a bit before finally drawing back and looking at Hermione.  Her eyes were closed, and they fluttered open at his gaze.

"That was rude," she breathed quietly.  "I do _not _talk too much-"

But he cut her off once again, this time kissing her a bit more forcefully.  Little bolts of shock seemed to run through him on instant, and he pressed his luck a bit further by lifting a hand to neck and pulling her closer.  The tiny little noise that Hermione made seemed to send his nerves into overdrive, and he was quite positive that this was one thing he would _never _grow tired of.

  
Later, he wouldn't remember much of the next twenty minutes, only that they did a _lot _more practicing and that Hermione had been right- practice certainly did help in learning to improve.  His mind seemed to drift away, and all he could notice was the here and now and nothing but Hermione.

It wasn't until the rain started falling again that Ron even seemed to realize that he was actually in reality.  He had somehow ended up in a sort of reclining position with the back of his head in the mud, and Hermione halfway on top of him.  He would have given all the money in the world to recall the exact details of how they had ended up that way, but all coherency in his brain seemed momentarily dysfunctional.  

The impending downpour seemed to alert Hermione to their situation, as well, and she drew away from a rather intense kiss and took a moment to catch her breath before saying, "It's raining."

He wanted to tell her that there was no need to point out the obvious, but the words seemed too long and too hard to say at the moment.  Instead, he just nodded and said, "Yeah..."

"We need to go inside," she whispered, sitting up and leaving Ron feeling extremely crestfallen.

Knowing she was right, he managed to nod again and say, "Yeah..."

Hermione stared at him for a moment longer before once again leaning down and kissing him full on the lips.  With that, she pushed herself into a standing position, giving Ron a good look at just _how _dirty and muddy she'd become.  Many, many naughty things entered his head at once, and he didn't even notice that she'd gone until she was halfway to the house.

Ron was well-aware of the fact that he was literally lying in mud, but he couldn't find the energy nor the motivation to move.  The rain was having a rather desired cooling effect on him, which was good since his body seemed to be burning up all over.

Nothing seemed real, and Ron raised one of his hands to his shoulder and pinched hard.  Feeling it, though, convinced him that he was not, in fact, dreaming, and that he had spent nearly half an hour _snogging _with Hermione.

_In the mud._

Oh, oh, oh...  Life was just lovely.

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Next Up:  Harry!

Feedback, as always, is adored!!!


	8. Discoveries

A/N:  Ack!  Delay, and I'm sorry!  Thanks for everyone who has reviewed so far!!

  
Disclaimer:  Sadly, I haven't gained ownership over the past week...

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It had been the first rain-free day in a week, and Harry was utilizing the good weather as an excuse to stay out of the Dursleys' house.  He'd left right after breakfast and had spent all day just wandering around the neighborhood and hiding from the neighbors who were all out enjoying the sun and would not have delayed at talking about _"that mad Potter boy."_

Harry didn't know if they were right; for all he could tell, he could quite possibly _be mad.  In fact, he could have been crazy his entire life and just never known the difference._

One thing he knew for sure, though, was that he certainly seemed to surround himself with crazy people.

Ron had kissed Hermione.

Hermione had kissed Ron.

They had kissed each other.

And if that didn't make them crazy, Harry didn't know what did.

When the letter first arrived, he'd nearly dropped it in shock. He'd been convinced that he was reading wrong or that it was all just a joke, but then he'd read between the lines and could literally tell that Ron had been completely flabbergasted and incoherent while writing it.  All Harry could really make out was something about mud, but he couldn't really make sense of it.

Mostly because it didn't make sense.

Ron and Hermione couldn't spend a day together without having some sort of falling out about something.  They bickered and argued and Ron purposely annoyed Hermione and Hermione nitpicked Ron and bossed him around and...  Well, it just didn't make any sense.

Harry couldn't figure it out, but in all honesty, he really didn't want to.  The thought of them _kissing _was almost enough to make him feel sick, so he just resigned himself to be happy not knowing the details about how, when, where, or why.  

And if he could get past the initial shock, he had to admit that it would be an interesting thing to see develop.

Of course, there was the major chance that Ron and Hermione wouldn't even be speaking to each other by next week, so Harry might never get the opportunity to witness it, whatever it was.  He would just have to wait and see, he supposed.

It was getting dark and he judged that it was around eight o'clock, well past dinnertime.  He would probably be in trouble when he went home, but he didn't care.  They couldn't really do anything to him anymore; he was sixteen years old for one thing, and they were terrified of him for another.  Not that they would ever admit it, and if he pointed out the fact that he was capable of doing them much damage, they would simply put on their best fronts and tell him that he could do no such thing because he would be expelled.  This was true, of course, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care or worry very much about that.  He wasn't planning on hexing any family members anyway, but it was always nice to know that the fear was there deep down inside.

Truthfully, the Dursleys weren't being that awful.  He rarely saw Dudley, and Uncle Vernon basically ignored him most of the time, which was fine with Harry.  Aunt Petunia still seemed annoyed with him from time to time, but she didn't really yell at him much anymore and sometimes she could even be considered cordial.

When he reached number four Privet Drive, he noticed right away that Uncle Vernon's car was gone; he assumed they'd gone out for the evening and went into the house feeling a little uplifted. 

"Who's there?"

Aunt Petunia's voice from above told Harry that he wasn't, as he'd expected, alone.  He sighed a little and then answered with, "Just me."

"Where've you been?" she called, and he wondered where she was.

"Nowhere."

"Come up here," she commanded, and Harry rolled his eyes and walked up the steps that led to the second floor, which seemed just as empty as the first.

"Aunt Petunia?" he called warily, half-afraid that he really _was _mad and hearing voices.

"I'm in the attic," she answered his unanswered question, and he opened the door that led to the attic stairs.  

It was hot in the crowded room, and Harry realized he hadn't been up there since before he left for Hogwarts.  He used to be made to clean it each spring, but it had been several years since he'd been home for spring cleaning.  However, it didn't really look like _anyone had been up there since the last time he'd cleaned it.  It was crowded, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust; there were so many cobwebs that Harry was positive Ron wouldn't have stepped foot inside._

"You missed dinner," she said shortly, not even looking up from the box she was rummaging through.

"Sorry," he mumbled, wondering why she'd called him up here.  "Where's Uncle Vernon?"

"He and Dudley went to London.  They've been gone all day, but I don't suppose you'd know that, would you?  Since you just run off without a word to anyone."

He was surprised to say the least; she was chastising, yes, but it was almost as if she _cared where he was or what he was doing.  Not knowing what else to say, he once again just mumbled, "Sorry."_

"Well, don't just stand there," she said briskly.  "Help me with this box."

Harry did as she said and helped her move a particularly large box from a shelf to the floor.  It was heavy, and it landed with a thud when they finally got it down.  His aunt stood up and dusted herself off, looked at him and said, "That's yours."

He wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly, and he tried to make sure he had.  "Excuse me?"

"I said that's yours," she said briskly, no longer looking at him but instead walking toward the door.  Before she left, though, she turned once and said, "If you want dinner, there's a plate in the refrigerator.  You can heat it up if you're hungry."

Not knowing what else to do, he just nodded, still slightly dumbfounded and said, "Okay."

She closed the door behind her, and he could hear her footsteps on the stairs as she went back downstairs.  Harry didn't know whether to be more shocked because of the box or because she'd actually made him a dinner plate.  Shaking his head, though, he looked down at the box and noticed the writing for the first time.

Written in loopy girlish handwriting was one word.

_Lily._

The breath caught in Harry's throat, and he suddenly felt very cool despite the stuffy hotness of the attic.  Not daring to believe what he was seeing, he carefully reached a hand out to the name, written in faded purple marker, and ran his fingers across it.  Still not letting himself get his hopes up, he grabbed a loose nail from the floor and punctured the packing tape, which was sealing the box.  Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

_"Mum...." _ He whispered the word to no one as he stared down at a whole load of things he knew at once had belonged to his mother.  He wasn't sure why Aunt Petunia had all of this, but he assumed it was the contents of his mother's childhood bedroom.  

Carefully, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the contents, he removed them one at a time and studied them.  There were all sorts of things.  Among them, a folder full of primary school tests, all headed with the same loopy handwriting that was on the top of the box, the i's all dotted with tiny flowers.  She'd been smart; he could tell because all of her papers were graded with very high percentiles.  There were other things, too, records and books.  A jewelry box adorned with purple rhinestones was filled with a variety of childish costume jewelry, and he fingered the rings and necklaces carefully before closing it tightly and setting it aside.  He found a photo album that was filled with Muggle pictures of his mother's primary school years; he could tell that she'd been popular then because there were always so many friends surrounding her.  He flipped through it and saw that the pictures slowed down as she got older, all of her teenaged pictures were taken only during the summer.  He stopped on one of his mother and a younger version of his aunt, and he stared at it carefully.  They were both smiling, but neither of them seemed too enthused.

As he was studying the photo, though, something else in the box caught his eye and caused him to put away the album.  It was a framed piece of aged paper, no parchment.

_Dear Miss Evans, _

_          We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

He knew the letter by heart, having read his own so many times that he'd permanently committed it to memory.  This one, though, was his _mother's..._

He was in awe of everything.  All of these things had belonged to his mother, someone he'd never had the chance to know.  It was almost as if he were getting to meet her, in an odd sort of way.

A thick book was resting underneath some ribbons, and he pulled it out, dusting off the cover to see what was written on the front.  _Lily's Baby Book.  _The book seemed fragile and in danger of breaking at any moment, so he was very careful as he opened it and read the first few pages.  It recorded the time of her birth and her length and weight; there were tiny footprints on one of the pages and tiny handprints on another.  Her first steps and words were recorded, and there was a lock of red hair secured to one of the pages with the words "First Hair Cut" scrawled underneath.  He touched it softly and was marveled at how silky it felt; this was his _mother's hair..._

**************************************

"What're you still doing up here?"

Harry heard the voice vaguely in his head and forced himself to wake up, pushing his eyelids open and glancing around at his surroundings.  He was still in the attic and now sweating from the sweltering heat and stuffiness.  He sat up and realized that he must have just dropped off while he was going through his mother's things; now Aunt Petunia had returned, and he could see the sun shining in through the tiny window on the other side of the room, casting a narrow beam of light across the attic floor.

"I must've fallen asleep," he said groggily, taking off his glasses and wiping the dust away on the hem of his shirt.

She didn't answer, just simply walked over and sat down beside him, looking into the box and staring at its contents for a long moment until Harry worked himself up to quietly say, "Thank you."

She looked at him then and raised an eyebrow.  "For what?"

"For this," he said, looking into the box with her.

She didn't say anything for a moment and then spoke in a very even and controlled voice.  "It was your mother's.  You have every right to it."

Harry didn't know how to answer, so he just sat with her in silence, waiting for her to speak again.  Finally, she did.

"She packed this but never came back for it.  It was still in my parents' house when it was sold."

Harry realized, with a bit of shock, that he had never considered the possibility of grandparents.  He'd never heard anyone mention them, and he'd always been told that Petunia was his only family.  He was a bit wary about asking, but he was suddenly overcome with curiosity.  "What happened to your parents?"

His aunt didn't look at him; she was staring at his mother's baby book.  It took her several moments to answer, and when she did, her answer was tightly spoken and given without eye-contact.  "They died three months before Lily did.  In a car accident."

The answer struck a nerve with him, as she had told him the exact same car accident story about his parents for ten years of his life.  However, he somehow knew that she was telling the truth when speaking of her parents, and he didn't think he should make any sort of comment.  In fact, he was struck with the urge to confide something in her that he hadn't yet told any of the Dursleys, and he didn't know why.

"My godfather died."

He stared very intently at the floor in front of him, not wanting to look at her.  She was quiet for a long time before she finally said, "When?"

He swallowed, the dust of the attic making his throat feel incredibly tight.  "In June.  Right before school ended."

He didn't expect her to say much; she wasn't the type to show any sympathy or anything of the sort, especially toward him.  Still, though, she asked, "How?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to go into detail.  "His cousin killed him."

"Wasn't he a murderer?"

Harry felt angry at her question, and a glare shot from his features before he could stop himself.  "He wasn't a murderer," he said fiercely.  "He was my dad's best friend."

She didn't say anything.

Carefully opening the photo album, she looked at the pictures in silence until she spoke suddenly out of nowhere.  "Is it happening again?"

Harry was confused, and he looked at her quizzically.  "What?"

"An evil wizard killed your parents.  Is that happening again?"

Harry was still amazed that Aunt Petunia knew anything at all about the wizarding world, but he was beginning to suspect that she knew quite a bit more than she'd been letting on all these years.  Nodding slightly, he quietly said, "Yeah.  And he wants to kill me."

She stared at him, her face appearing without shock.  "Why?"

He shrugged again, not in the mood to tell her the whole story.  "There's a prophecy, and he has to kill me to fulfill it."  He left out the part about being able to counteract it by being the murderer himself; that bit somehow didn't make him feel much better.

"I didn't hate your mother," she said suddenly, staring down at a picture in the photo album of the two of them as children.  "I just didn't understand her."  Softer she said, "I don't understand you."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

Truthfully, he didn't understand her, either.

******************************************

"Stop moving," said Ginny firmly.

"Ginny, it's hopeless."  Hermione winced in slight pain as Ginny jerked her head straight and ran the comb through her tangled curls.  

"It's not, either.  If you'd just be _still."_

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stared down at the book in her lap, being extremely careful not to move so that Ginny wouldn't assault her head or neck anymore.  She wasn't sure why she was letting her hair be put into plaits, but Ginny had begged and gone on and on about how incredibly bored she was and how she loved playing with other people's hair.  It was easier just to let her get her way.

"Your hair's really beautiful, you know," said Ginny wistfully, running the comb down the back of Hermione's head and making a part through her hair.  

"Hmm..." came the unenthusiastic reply.  

"Hold this," she instructed, passing Hermione a hair elastic while she pulled one side up and went to work on braiding the other half.  "I wish my hair was curly; it's so boring and straight."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew Ginny couldn't see her.  "You wouldn't be wishing that if you had it.  It's a pain."

"No," said Ginny earnestly.  "Straight is boring."

"Curly is messy."

They both giggled at this, and Ginny went on plaiting Hermione's hair while Hermione read through several pages of the ancient spell book she'd bought in Diagon Alley.  She'd actually forgotten that she bought it with all of the drama that had occurred over the past two weeks, but she'd finally decided that she had pushed her homework off long enough and had rediscovered it in the bag with her and Ron's schoolbooks.  After finishing the rest of her Transfiguration essay, she'd taken a break and let Ginny mess with her hair; she'd decided to use the break as an excuse to look through the extra book.

"All done," Ginny said proudly, sliding off of her knees and back to a standing position beside the bed.  "It's adorable!"

Hermione turned around and looked into the vanity mirror, raising her eyebrows at her reflection.  "I look like I'm ten."

"No, you don't," said Ginny waving her hand dismissively.  "You look precious."

_Precious wasn't really something that Hermione liked to be known as, but there was no use fighting with Ginny when she was in her girly mode, which she seemed to be falling into more and more lately.  In fact, just as Hermione was tugging at one of her braids, Ginny was pulling open her closet and rummaging through her clothes._

"What do you think I should wear tomorrow?" she asked, staring at her wardrobe with her back to the other girl.  

Hermione hid a smirk; Dean was supposed to be coming to visit the next day, and Ginny had barely shut up about it.  "I don't know," she said, shrugging.  "Whatever you want, I guess."

Ginny bit her lip and continued to inspect her clothes.  "Hmm, do you think I should wear jeans or a skirt?"

Rolling her eyes again, Hermione lay down on her stomach and started reading once again.  "What are you planning on doing when he gets here?"

Slowly, Ginny turned around to face her, a sly little smirk playing on her lightly freckled face.  "I don't know.  Stuff."

Hermione snorted and flipped the page of her book.  "Then wear whatever you like best."

"Probably jeans," she said more to herself than to Hermione.  She reached in and pulled out several shirts.  "Which of these do you think is the cutest?"

Hermione looked up and examined the clothes before nodding at one and saying, "The blue one.  It looks nice with your hair."

Ginny set the others down and held the blue one up to her, looking in the mirror.  "Yeah, I guess so.  I'm just so excited!"

She was very nearly squealing, and Hermione had to force herself not to roll her eyes before turning back to the book.  Ginny was now playing with her own hair, twisting it into new styles and studying her reflection.  The book that Hermione was reading was turning out to be very interesting; she was just doing a quick scan-through first to see if there was anything worth stopping on.  She would go back later and read the rest of the parts thoroughly. 

Just as she was about to close the book and start looking over her homework, a heading caught her eye and made her stop.  Her pulse quickened slightly as she read what was written underneath it, and she read it through again quickly just to make sure that she wasn't making a mistake.  Without a word, she folded down the page and jumped up from the bed, hurrying to the door.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked, dropping her hair and staring expectantly at Hermione.

Hermione stopped with her hand on the doorknob and said, "I've got to tell Ron something."

Ginny winced slightly and made a face.  "Oh, god, Hermione...  He's my _brother."_

Hermione ignored her; Ginny had been making comments like that for days now, ever since she had forced Hermione into a confession about everything that had happened.  With a slight roll of her eyes, she rushed down the hallway and to the stairs that led up to Ron's bedroom.  His door was open, and she went in without waiting for an invitation.  He looked up, slightly startled from the Quidditch magazine he was reading.  Upon seeing him reading a sports' periodical, she couldn't resist saying, "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes," he said, and then shook his head a second later and said, "No, I'm lying."  He then looked at her oddly and said, "What did you do to your hair?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't waste anymore time.  "I've got to show you something."  She sat down beside him and dropped the book open to the page.  "Look at this."

Ron set the magazine aside and sighed before looking down and reading the section that Hermione had opened for him.  She watched as his eyes widened slightly with each passing moment and she knew that he understood perfectly.  When he finished, he looked up and met her eyes warily.  "But...  This is... Hermione, we can't."

"Why not?" she demanded immediately.  "Don't you realize what this could do?"

"It's _dark magic," he said seriously.  _

Hermione hesitated and then looked down at the bed.  "But it'll work.  And it'll _help."_

Ron turned his head, and she could see the temptation tugging at him.  This was almost too good to be true, and it was exactly what they needed.  There was no way he could pass up this chance.

"It'll be fine," she said, urging him.  "We'll just have to wait until we get back to Hogwarts because we can't do it here."

He eyed her for a moment, and then he said, "Why not?"

She took this as a good sign but shook her head in response.  "Well, because we're not supposed to be doing any magic outside of school, and we might get caught."

"No, we won't," said Ron slowly.  "The Ministry only monitors wand-use, and this wouldn't involve any wands, would it?"

She considered him for a moment and then grinned despite herself.  "No, it wouldn't."

"And I bet Fred and George would get whatever we needed..."

She couldn't believe he'd changed his mind and given in so easily.  "You really think so?"

He shrugged.  "Yeah, they don't really care much for rules, you know."  He glance down at the page again and said, "But we'll have to convince Harry."

Hermione frowned, knowing that that task would probably prove to be none too easy.

*****************************************

_Harry was flying._

_The wind was rushing through his hair, and his glasses were falling down the bridge of his nose, but he couldn't be bothered to fix them at the moment.  He needed to get there fast._

_Suddenly, he realized that he had no clue where he was going, and he found himself over a field of wildflowers.  The flowers were blowing gently in the breeze, and Harry considered stopping to examine them.  _

_That was before they turned into hundreds of students, all faceless and dressed in Hogwarts' robes._

_Harry tilted his broom down and stopped in the middle of the crowd, looking around for anyone that he knew.  He spotted a head of red hair that he knew must have been Ron, and he shouted for his attention.  When the student turned around, though, he turned out to be..._

"Professor Lupin?"  Harry squinted through the dimly lit room at the figure now standing just a foot from his bed and calling his name.

"Harry, wake up.  It's time to go."

Realizing that he'd been dreaming but that now a member of the Order was here to take him away from Privet Drive, he grew excited.  He sat up and immediately reached for his glasses, slipping them onto his nose and staring at his former-teacher clearly.  

"Hurry now," said Lupin briskly, turning around and surveying the room.  "Get dressed because we don't have much time."

"Why the rush?" Harry asked, scrambling out of bed and heading for his dresser.  He pulled it out and grabbed some clothes, slipping the sweater and jeans on over his shorts.

"I've got to get you to the Burrow within the next half-hour.  Are you taking all of these clothes with you?" he asked, motioning toward the open drawers.

Harry nodded as he finished getting dressed and watched as Lupin waved his wand and sent the clothes flying into Harry's open trunk.  "So, I'm going to the Burrow?"

"Yes.  Now are you packed otherwise?"

Harry glanced around at his room and threw a few last minute items into his already packed trunk.  He still hadn't emptied it from the previous year.  "How am I getting there?"

"Portkey," answered Lupin, holding up a soda can.  

"That'll only take a few seconds, though," said Harry uncertainly.  "If we have a half hour, why do we have to rush?"

Lupin sighed and took a seat on Harry's unmade bed.  "Because I wanted a chance to talk to you before we went."

"Oh."  Harry didn't know what to say; he was feeling suddenly rather uneasy.  "What about?"

"About Sirius."  The answer was short and simple, and Harry found that he couldn't look the older man in the eye.  Instead, he knelt down by his trunk and pretended to be giving it a final check.

Again, he simply said, "Oh."

"Look, Harry," said Lupin slowly.  Harry could tell that he was trying to choose his words carefully, and he realized that it would be much easier to have this conversation without any sort of eye-contact.  "I want to know if you're okay."

Harry shrugged without looking up.  "Yeah.  Fine."

There was a brief silence in which Harry knew that Lupin was trying to decide whether or not to believe him.  "If you're not, you can tell me, you know.  I'll understand."

Harry dug through his trunk searching for something unknown.  "I said I'm fine."

"You're not."

Growing a bit angry, Harry finally looked up.  "I said I am, okay?  So leave it alone."

"You don't have to pretend with me."

"I'm not pretending!" said Harry heatedly.  "God, why can't you believe that?"

"Because I can tell," said Lupin simply; he didn't appear to be one bit surprised by Harry's reaction.  "And I feel like it's my responsibility to help you."

For some reason, this statement made Harry mad, and he lashed out before he could stop himself.  "Well, don't, okay?  It's not your responsibility to do anything for me!  You're not my father _or my godfather!"  He looked down at the floor immediately, ashamed of himself.  Not knowing what else to do, he mumbled a very quiet, "I'm sorry."_

"Don't be."  Harry looked up and saw that Lupin was now staring at a spot on the ground.  "You're not doing anything except telling the truth."

"It was rude."

"It was the truth."  Finally, they met gazes again.  "You're right; I don't have any sort of legal responsibility toward you, but that doesn't stop my moral responsibility."

"You don't have to help me," said Harry quietly.

"I want to.  I owe it to James and to Sirius."

Harry shook his head and pulled the lid of his trunk closed.  "You don't owe them anything."

"They were my best friends."  He sighed, and his brow wrinkled, making him look older than normal.  "And that means more than anything else in the world to me.  They were always there for me whenever I needed them, and now I want to do the same thing for you."  He glanced down at his hands and quietly said, "Because you're all of them that is left."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment and then said, "You shouldn't want to help me.  You should hate me."  He found that there was no emotion in his voice, so he spoke dully and listlessly.  "It's my fault they're both dead."

"Don't you ever say that again," said Lupin sharply.  "Ever."

Harry didn't want to waste his time arguing, so he just shrugged.  "Can we go now?"

The room stayed quiet until Lupin finally frowned and nodded.  "Yes, but I want you to know that you can always talk to me.  About anything."

Harry thought it was a nice gesture, but he somehow didn't think he would be rushing to take him up on that offer anytime soon.  Being around Professor Lupin reminded him too much of being around Sirius, and he would have given anything in the world not to have that reminder hanging over his head twenty-four hours a day.

He started to grab his trunk when he suddenly remembered something.  "Do I need to tell my aunt and uncle that I'm leaving?"

"No.  They already knew."

"That's why she gave me the box..."  Harry said more to himself than anything.

"What box?"

Harry glanced at his closet where he had stored the box containing all of his mother's things.  He'd put a few things into his trunk, but he knew it was impossible to take all of her belongings with him.  Instead of going to his closet, he undid the latch on his trunk and pulled out the first thing of his mother's that he saw- the costume jewelry box.  He knew that it was childish of him to take something like that, but he'd become enamored with the fake jewels almost immediately and he'd spent a good deal of time studying them and trying to feel his mother through them.

"My aunt gave me a box with my mum's stuff in it," he said quietly, holding up the jewelry box as evidence.  

Lupin said nothing for a moment and then quietly said, "May I see that?"

Harry passed the box over and watched as Professor Lupin opened the lid and peered inside, his fingers gliding over all of the bracelets and necklaces.  He stopped and picked up a ring; it was one of those big flashy rings with a huge fake emerald in the center of the band.  

"Your dad gave this to her when we were in fifth year," he said with a small smirk.  "He bought it real cheap in Hogsmeade and tried to be all smooth by telling her that it matched her eyes..."  His voice trailed and then he grinned.  "She told him that the only reason he'd bought it was because the stone was the only thing in the world bigger than his head.  We thought she pitched it in the bin."

"Why'd you think that?" Harry asked quietly.

"Because she said she did when he asked her about it the next day."  Lupin laughed and put the ring back into the box, shutting the lid.  "Turned out she lied, I guess."

Harry had a flashback of the memory of Snape's that he'd snuck into the year before.  His mother had appeared to detest his father, but maybe she really hadn't.  She had, after all, apparently thought enough of him to keep a valueless ring he'd given her as an attempt to impress her.  Thinking of the memory, though, made him uncomfortable, and he once again looked up at his old teacher.  

"Can we go now?"

Lupin nodded, and Harry placed the jewelry box back into his trunk and clicked the latch.  He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only just now after nine o'clock; he realized that he must have dropped off to sleep at an incredibly early time.  He couldn't wait to get to the Burrow.

"One... Two... Three."

Harry felt the tugging inside of his stomach as he kept one hand tightly on the handle of the trunk and the other on the soda can that he was sharing with Professor Lupin.  A few moments later, they were slowing down and pulling to a stop.  Harry hit the floor of the Burrow's living room full force and fell into the side of his trunk.

"Oh, dear!"  Mrs. Weasley's familiar voice rang out to him as he opened his eyes and peered around him.  He was clutching the shoulder that had slammed into the trunk, and he could feel the bruise showing up already.  "Harry, are you alright?"

He winced and stood up, nodding slightly.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

"It's so wonderful to see you!" she said brightly, wrapping him in a hug and just narrowly missing the now very sore spot on his upper arm.  "Did everything go alright?"

Professor Lupin, who had traveled with considerable more ease than Harry had, nodded and sighed.  "Yes, very smoothly."

"Excellent," said another voice, and Harry looked over to see Mr. Weasley rising from his armchair.  "We were about to get worried."

"We're on time, aren't we?"  Lupin glanced at his own watch, and Mr. Weasley nodded.

"Yes, but it was getting close."

"Have you gotten any news yet, Arthur?" Lupin asked, and Harry knew that whatever they were talking about was not for his ears.  He was inclined to try and decode the secret conversation that Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin were now having, but he was far more anxious for other things.

"Are Ron and Hermione still awake?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Weasley hopefully.

She nodded.  "Yes, they should be.  They don't know that you're here, though, because we didn't want to get their hopes up in case the plans changed."

"Are they upstairs?"

"As far as I know, yes.  But Harry, dear, don't you want something to eat or drink?  I can make you something if you like."

"No, thank you," he said politely.  "I think I'm just going to go upstairs."

"Okay, I'll get Arthur to bring your trunk later."

He nodded, and she smiled at him once more before he turned and hurried up the stairs.  He stopped on the second landing and glanced in the direction of Ginny's bedroom, wondering if Hermione might be there.  He started to knock on her door but decided he would just try Ron's room first.  He got to the top of the house and found the only door on that landing to be open.  He could see both Ron and Hermione, hunched over something on Ron's bed with their backs to him.

"Hey," he said, watching as they both started and spun around at the sound of his voice.  For a moment they stared in shock, and then Hermione let out a happy little squeal and darted across the room, throwing her arms around him in a hug that made the one Mrs. Weasley had just given him look very weak.  

"Harry!" she said excitedly.  "When did you get here?"

"Just now," he said when she finally let go and he could breathe.  "Lupin came to get me."

"We didn't know you were coming," said Ron, standing up and crossing the room to where the other two stood.  He grinned.  "But this is excellent!"

Harry started to say something else but cut himself short as he caught a good sight of Hermione.  "What's with the hair?"

Hermione frowned and shrugged.  "Ginny," she said simply.  "But Harry, this is amazing because we were just talking about you!"  Harry looked at her expectantly, but she was grabbing his arm and tugging him to the bed before he had a chance to ask for an explanation.  "Read this," she commanded, shoving him into a sitting position and pushing a large book toward him.  

Harry had really never found anything that Hermione wanted him to read to be quite interesting, but he knew that Ron had apparently been engrossed in whatever it was, so he figured that it couldn't be all that bad.  With only the tiniest of sighs, he bent his head and started reading the open page.

He couldn't quite believe what he was reading.  They had to be insane to think that he would go for this.  The page was filled with what looked like a very complicated potion and a Latin incantation that Harry couldn't quite translate.  The spell and potion were apparently supposed to be performed on three people with the use of their blood being the main component.  For a moment, Harry thought that they were actually supposed to use their blood in the potion, but when he read on, what he found was even more appalling.  They were supposed to drink the potion and then cut their hands open, joining them with the others and allowing their blood to mix as one.  Apparently combination of three bloods was supposed to provide an ancient form of protection over the three who performed the task.  The warning at the bottom of the page said, _"There is no such thing as complete protection.  This spell is to be used only for heightened precautionary reasons.  There are no guarantees."_

When Harry finished reading, he looked up at his best friends and shook his head.

"No."

*********************************************

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	9. Some Thoughts

A/N:  You guys are wonderful!

  
Disclaimer:  What do you think?

***************************************************************

The next morning, Harry woke up feeling much more at ease than he had in a long time.  He knew immediately that he was at the Burrow, a place where people knew and understood him and didn't judge him.  It was one of the few places in the world that he could actually feel completely at ease, and he was thankful for this.  The Dursleys, while not really being as horrible as normal, still made him feel like an outsider, and he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to feel totally comfortable with being at Hogwarts anymore, especially since so many of the students viewed him as someone who was either supposed to save them or destroy them.  

The Burrow, though, was filled with people who didn't care that he was the Boy Who Lived.

Actually, though, 'filled' was a bit of an overstatement.  It was actually the emptiest he had ever seen it, and when he went down to breakfast with Ron, he was surprised to see the normally crowded table being occupied only by Ginny and Hermione.  Mrs. Weasley was cooking, and she handed them plates stacked high with sausages and eggs after smiling fondly at them both.  They joined the girls at the table, and Harry took the seat beside Ginny since Ron got to the table first and claimed the seat next to Hermione.  Harry watched with mixed feelings as his two best friends shared a quick little grin before turning back to their breakfasts silently; he hadn't asked either of them about anything yet, and he wasn't really sure if he would.  Perhaps it wasn't really as big of a deal as he'd imagined.  He hoped it wasn't anyway.

He was surprised that both of the girls were already dressed for the day, since it was still quite early.  Hermione seemed to realize that it was far too early to be totally awake, and though she was dressed, she still looked tired and appeared to be stifling several yawns.  Ginny, on the other hand, looked very much awake and alert, and Harry couldn't help but notice that she had apparently put more effort into her appearance than she would have on any other normal morning at home.  He suspected the reasoning behind her silvery eye shadow and pink lip gloss had quite a bit to do with the fact that Dean Thomas was supposed to be making an appearance at the Burrow today.  Ron had told him the night before, and they'd had a rather lengthy conversation about Ginny and Dean, which had thoroughly amused Harry and slightly angered Ron.  It had been the only thing, really, that they'd talked about after Hermione had tried for several minutes to convince Harry to go through with the spell she'd found before finally giving up and leaving in a huff.  They hadn't talked about Ron's new... whatever with Hermione.  And they hadn't talked about anything having to do with school or Voldemort.  Actually, Ginny and Dean had been a rather pleasant conversational topic; it was interesting at least.

She grinned at him when he sat down beside her, having not seen him the night before.  She had a nice smile, Harry decided; it was very white, and it made her eyes crinkle up a bit in the corners.  She had nice eyes, too, come to that; they were brown but much darker than Hermione's, a sharp contrast with the light eyelashes and pale skin that framed them.  

"So, glad to be away from your family?" she asked brightly.  

Harry rolled his eyes and took a sip of the orange juice in front of him.  "What do you think?"

She laughed and said, "Well, good.  And now that you're here, Ron's not the only boy anymore."

Harry had heard more than once from Ron over the summer how crazy it was to be in a houseful of women, which was a sharp contrast from what he was used to.  Harry glanced across the table and saw that Ron was paying them no attention and was whispering something to Hermione that was causing a grin to play on her face.  He felt Ginny kick him underneath the table, and he looked over to see her rolling her eyes.  "Ignore them," she muttered.  "It's disgusting."

Harry took his friends' oblivion as an excuse to ask something he'd been wondering for awhile but had been rather reluctant (and scared) to ask.  Silently, he looked at Ginny and mouthed the word, "How?"

She rolled her eyes slightly and leaned a bit closer to him, whispering, "I'll tell you later."

She smelled nice.

Harry didn't know where that had come from, but he couldn't help noticing the scent of vanilla that seemed to radiate off of her hair, which she had tied into a very high ponytail.  For her first few years at Hogwarts, she'd worn her hair to her shoulders, but it had grown during the last year, and Harry hadn't realized it until just then.

"So, is Dean coming today?" he asked, mostly out of wanting to make conversation but partly out of wanting to quit noticing things about her.

"Yes," she said, grinning brightly.  "He should be here soon, so I better go get ready."  Harry didn't know what else she had to do to get ready, since she was already dressed and looked completely put together to him.  However, there were some things about girls that he just didn't bother to question.  

He questioned himself, though, when she stood up to put her breakfast dish in the sink and he found himself staring at her.  She was dressed only in a pair of jeans and a pale blue tank top, but the jeans were sitting quite low and her shirt appeared several inches too short, leaving more than a bit of her lower back revealed.  He averted his eyes quickly when she turned around and he noticed that just as much of her stomach was revealed.  

There were some thoughts he just didn't want to have...

********************************************************************************

Dean showed up later that morning, and he and Ginny disappeared pretty quickly.  Ron spent most of the time they were missing brooding and making half-muttered comments that usually included the words 'murder' and 'football-obsessed git.'  Harry and Hermione, for their part, successfully ignored him for the most part, and as the three of them sat in Ron's room working on last-minute homework, Hermione even managed to shut Ron up for a moment.

She stopped mid-Charms' homework and looked up at Harry.  "So, what's with you and Luna Lovegood?"

Harry dropped his quill at her question and looked up to see Hermione and now Ron both staring at him with slightly amused looks on their faces.  "What are you talking about?"

She shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Nothing.  I was just asking."

"Asking what?"

"Well, you've been writing her, haven't you?  I just wanted to know if there was... anything else."  

Harry stared at her, his mouth slightly gone slack.  Surely, she hadn't suddenly turned _stupid...  _"She wrote me, so I wrote her back."

"Okay," said Hermione breezily, turning back to her homework.  Ron snickered.  
  
"What?" Harry demanded.

"Well, it's just odd, isn't it?" she said with a sigh.  "I mean, it's not like you know her all that well or anything."

"Well enough for what?"

"For anything."

"For anything what?"  He looked at her very pointedly, and she sat up a bit straighter as she usually did whenever someone questioned her.

"For anything _anything," _she said in a tone that made him wonder once again about her sanity.  "But Harry, she's a bit odd, isn't she?"

"She's really nice," he defended immediately.  "You just don't know her.  She's not all that weird."  Ron snickered again, and Harry turned his stare on him.  "She's _not,"_ he reiterated.  "And she helped us last year."

Neither of them could argue with that.

  
"Do you like her?" Hermione asked.

"As a friend, yeah."

"No," said Ron, cutting in.  "Do you _fancy _her?"

Harry nearly choked on his own tongue.  "Are you mad?!  Of course I don't!"  He laughed at the atrocity of the suggestion. 

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he said, exasperated.  "But she's nice, and she's interesting."

"And she's crazy," said Hermione firmly.

"She's not, either.  She just has a lot of faith in things."

"Like Crinkled Snackcakes?" said Ron with raised eyebrows.

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," corrected Harry without realizing it.  Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that were somewhere between hilarity and disbelief.  Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Look, she helped us, okay?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by the appearance of Ginny and Dean, both of whom looked rather pleased about something Harry was sure he didn't want to imagine and was even more positive that Ron didn't want to imagine.  

Ginny walked over and pulled Hermione to her feet.  "Can you help me?" she asked, her tone not hiding the fact that she was about to spill something very important to Hermione that would undoubtedly make them both squeal and giggle like little girls.  Without so much as a word to the boys, she dragged the other girl out of the room, and Harry could hear their feet disappearing quickly down the staircase.

Dean took a seat next to Harry and glanced over at his work.  "Can I copy that?" he asked, nodding at the nearly finished take-home Charms examination.  Harry nodded and took Hermione's absence as opportunity to snag the last few answers from her paper, a task which Ron was also partaking in.  He quickly glanced over his other answers and fixed the ones that didn't match directly with what Hermione had written.  

"Just make sure you give it back when we get to school," Harry said, passing the paper to Dean, who folded it up and tucked it in his pocket.  

Dean nodded and watched with half-amusement as Ron got up and hurried to the door, locking it quickly before returning to his bed and diving into the stack of Hermione's homework, looking for anything else she had that he could copy.  "Do you two always copy off of her?"

"Only when she's not around," Harry said, quickly following Ron's lead and stealing Hermione's Potions' essay as his best friend hurriedly scribbled down the answers to Transfiguration.  They would trade later, so that they both benefited.  Dean, apparently realizing a good thing when he saw it, grabbed a spare piece of parchment from Harry's stack and took to jotting down the answers for the Care of Magical Creatures questions that had been set for them at the end of last year.  

The three of them spent the next few minutes copying in silence until Ron got up to use the loo.  As soon as he was gone, Dean nudged Harry.  "So, Ron and Hermione, huh?"

Harry looked up, knowing exactly what the other boy was asking about and, not really knowing anything, shrugged.  "I guess."

"How did _that _happen?"

Harry shrugged again.  "I dunno.  I haven't really asked, but Ginny said she'd tell me later."

"Why not just ask Ron?"

Harry made a face and suppressed the thought of what that conversation would be like.  "Because I don't want details about what it's like to snog Hermione, so I figure Ginny's a safer bet than Ron."

"True," said Dean and was silent for a moment before grinning rather cheekily.  "But that would be pretty hot, huh?"

"What?"

"If Ginny could give you details on what snogging Hermione's like," said Dean as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Harry tried and failed at stopping his brain from conjuring up the image that immediately filled his mind.  He felt his face heat up slightly and was brought out of his thoughts only by Dean's continuing talk.

"Course, I don't really Hermione would go for that.  But I bet Ginny might, though."

Harry nearly choked on his tongue for the second time that hour.  "What?!"

Dean just nodded, and Harry recognized the telling glint in his eyes.  "She's very, uh, forward..."  He grinned.  "I'm pretty sure she'd be open to lots of different things if tempted."

_"Really?"  _Harry mentally slapped himself for finding the possibility so... interesting.  Jesus, what was the matter with him?

"Yeah."  Dean sighed a bit.  "She's definitely not shy at all."

Harry tried desperately to recall the image of the eleven year old little girl who used to put her elbow in the butter dish but found himself only able to come up with the fifteen year old who wore pink lip gloss and shirts that showed off more skin than her mother probably appreciated.  

Just then, though, Ron came back into the room, and Harry nearly tipped over his inkwell as he stumbled to appear busy.  He wanted desperately to appear as though he were simply copying Hermione's homework and certainly _not _talking about Ron's little sister in any sort of inappropriate manner.

Yes, there were _definitely_ some thoughts he didn't want to have.

***********************************************************************************

That evening, after Dean was gone for the evening, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all sitting around the living room floor playing a game of Exploding Snap, despite Hermione's complaints that the game always gave her a headache.  Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen making a list of supplies that she needed to buy the next time she went shopping, and Mr. Weasley had still not returned from work.

"I wonder when our school letters are going to show up," said Ginny out of nowhere as she threw a card into the deck and waited to see if there was going to be an explosion.

  
"They came late last year," said Hermione as she took her turn.

"They need to hurry up," added Ron, tossing a card into the pile.  "We need to make sure our schedules got approved."

"I'm sure they did."  Hermione winced as Harry's card finally set the deck into flames with a loud bang.  When the smoke cleared, she rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the game and went on with the subject.  "You might get Prefect, Ginny."

Ginny, though, laughed as she scooped up the cards that weren't singed and prepared to deal them.  "No chance," she said flatly.  "Bria Myers is in my class, remember?"

Bria Myers was almost as certain of a pick as Hermione had been the year before.  Hermione, though, just shrugged and said, "Well, you never know."

"Yeah, I do," Ginny finished.  "It'll be Bria and Josh Truman."

Everyone knew that she was probably right, but no one said anything.  They just started a new game and played on in silence for a few moments until they heard noises coming from the kitchen.

  
"Dad must be home," Ron said, looking up at the connecting door.  All four of them heard the footsteps approaching and the secure locking charm that was placed from the other side.  Ginny and Ron glanced at each other, apparently both getting the same idea at once, and jumped up, nearly knocking each other over as they shot to the door.  Ginny hit the floor immediately, her face as close as possible to the crack at the bottom; Ron opted for the ear tightly against the door bit.

They were very clearly eavesdropping on a conversation that was very obviously not meant for them.  

Surprisingly enough, though, they didn't receive even a hint of a scolding from Hermione.  Instead, she and Harry just watched silently as their friends listened in on their parents.  It was only a few moments later when Ginny rolled over onto her back and stared up at her brother, their eyes meeting wordlessly for a second, strange expressions on their faces.  No words were exchanged between the two of them as Ron reached a hand down and tugged her to her feet.  

They walked back over to the game and retook their seats, Harry and Hermione watching them closely.  When it was evident that neither of them was going to say anything, Hermione finally took the initiative to ask.

"What happened?"

Ron looked over at her and then turned his gaze back to his cards.  "Dad's been sacked," he said simply, though his voice was a bit uneven.

Harry stared at him and wasn't surprised to find that the stare was one-sided.  Ron seemed very intent on his hand of cards.  He glanced at Hermione, who returned a look that clearly said she didn't know what to say or do, either.  It was Ginny, who finally broke the silence.  

She drew in a slow breath and then said, "Tonks, too."

"But..." Hermione stuttered about uncertainly.  "But that's completely stupid!"

Ginny shrugged, her eyes no longer holding the brightness that they had for the rest of the day.  Ron still didn't lift his gaze from his cards.

Harry felt anger and guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

This was all _his _fault.

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Yes, yes, I know.  It's a bit shorter than normal, but that's okay.  We're moving quickly toward the start of the school year, so short chapters are okay from time to time...

  
Anyway,  I love reviews!!!!

  
  



	10. The Things That Are Worth It

A/N:  Thanks, thanks, thanks!!!

  
Disclaimer:  Hmm... yeah, still don't own them...

************************************************************

Hermione couldn't quite believe that she had actually talked Harry into going through with the protection spell.

It hadn't been easy, of course.  She'd actually had to resort to speaking very loudly and using very large words if for no other reason than to confuse him.  She had learned long ago that the best way to talk people into things they didn't want to do was to make them feel stupid because most of the time they gave in just to save themselves the embarrassment of showing that they had no clue what was really being said.  Truthfully, she'd felt a bit bad about tricking him like that, as he'd seemed genuinely sincere with his defense that it wasn't safe and that they were all three risking expulsion or worse.  It was, as he so often pointed out, _Dark _magic, a subject which none of them should have been exploring.  She assured him, though, that they wouldn't get caught because there would be no way of tracing the spell, and she told him with full honesty that she didn't feel any sort of anxiety about the spell being Dark magic because it would inevitably _help _them.  In the end, he'd finally given up and given in, an action which had surprised both Ron and Hermione.

They'd spent the last week preparing to mix the potion, writing Fred and George for help, and planning exactly when and where.  This had all been mixed with other things.  Somehow, both Ron and Harry had managed to complete their homework on time and correctly at that. This was one burden taken off of them, but there were still several more, not the least of which was dealing with the obvious sullen tone that had taken over the Weasley house with the dismissal of Mr. Weasley from the Ministry.  No one really talked about it, and Hermione often felt uncomfortable whenever the thick silences settled over the dinner table.  She hadn't said a word about it to Ron and had actually run unknowingly into Ginny's wrath because of it.

She hadn't meant to offend the younger girl when she'd offered her a couple of old school shirts that she had outgrown but still hung onto.  Actually, the fact that Ginny's father was now jobless had not even entered her mind.  This reasoning, though, hadn't stopped Ginny from glaring and snidely saying, "I don't need your _charity, _Hermione.  My parents can still afford my clothes, you know."  Hermione had sat in slightly shocked silence until Ginny had frowned and muttered an apology.

The overreaction hadn't been spoken of since, but Hermione hadn't dared to make any other suggestions that included giving Ginny any of her old things.  Mostly, everyone had just avoided the subject, and Hermione suspected that Harry had partly agreed to the spell in order to get everyone's minds off of other things.  

It had certainly worked.

As the days had drawn closer, Hermione had spent most of her time reading and rereading the pages of the book, which laid out the instructions. Ron had convinced the twins to buy them some supplies and ship them over, but he'd had to agree to be their Hogwarts' representative and sell their products to the students there.  Hermione, of course, had told him that he was a Prefect and that he shouldn't be partaking in such childish endeavors.  He'd, of course, told her that there was no other choice, and she had shut up.

Besides, she would have much worse things to worry about that year than who was buying which Skiving Snackboxes and whatnot.  There were her obvious worries about school, but she now also had a million other things to worry about, not to mention keeping up with all of her other commitments.  They would obviously still try their hardest to continue the D.A., since it was more important than ever that they be prepared to defend themselves, and she had also spent the summer devising a series of new points to present to the house-elves about why their freedom should be something they desired instead of feared.  In addition to all of that, she'd gotten her school letter and had, once again, been named Prefect.

The letters had arrived just yesterday, the same day as the box containing all of the ingredients that Fred and George had dug up for them.  Ron had also been asked back, and Ginny had, predictably, been passed over for Prefect in lieu of Bria Myers, a decision which didn't seem to upset Ginny in the least.  All of their schedules had been approved, and Hermione had a complete list of all the classes she'd been taking in the past; Ron and Harry had gotten the same schedule as each other and were both looking forward to a much lighter load than normal.  The most notable thing about the letters, though, had come in the form of a letter to Harry from Professor McGonagall.  It had been short and to the point, welcoming him back onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team and congratulating him on his new appointed position as team captain.  He'd been elated and had been in a considerably better mood ever since; the only downside to the announcement had been a list of the other team captains, all of which were new to their positions.  For Harry, the list couldn't have been much worse.  _Hufflepuff- Zacharias Smith.  Ravenclaw- Cho Chang.  Slytherin- Draco Malfoy.  _

  
But, completely horrifying as the list was, Harry still couldn't be anything but thrilled.  And when he was in a better mood, he tended to rub off on everyone else, a good thing in the present condition of the Weasley household.

Hermione thought about all of this as she squinted at her watch in the darkness.  Ginny was asleep in the next bed with Crookshanks curled beside her legs, and Hermione knew it was going to be difficult to sneak out without waking either of them up in the process, but she'd promised to meet the boys at twelve-thirty, a time when the rest of the house was sure to be asleep.  She could barely make out the hands of her watch to read 12:26.

It was time to do this.

************************************************************************

The deja vu was almost too much.

Harry stared at the scene in front of him and suddenly felt like he was twelve years old again.  The surroundings were a bit different, and they were all a lot older, but the familiarity of the situation was definitely there.

Hermione was sitting on her knees in the middle of the Burrow's second floor loo, stirring the potion carefully and checking her book every few seconds to make sure she was doing everything correctly.  It was unlikely, of course, that she would make a mistake, but she tended to be a bit of a perfectionist.  Ron was sitting on the edge of the tub watching her with a slightly bored expression on his face, apparently not finding anything at all interesting about brewing a potion.  Harry was leaning against the door and sharing much the same sentiment.

He was nervous, naturally, because Hermione hadn't been a hundred percent sure of how the potion would affect them or what would happen when they did the spell.  He was also worried that, even though both of his friends had assured him that the Ministry tracked _only wand-use among underage wizards, that they would somehow find out about the use of magic and try to expel him again.  There was also the chance that a member of the Weasley family would need to use the bathroom and find them out, an event that would certainly not be pleasant.  He couldn't imagine what excuse they would give as to why they were all locked in the bathroom together with a cauldron of potion in the middle of the floor._

It was almost two o'clock in the morning, and Harry could feel himself getting sleepy; Ron seemed to be having the same idea, as his eyes were closing slightly, the potion-brewing doing nothing to keep his attention.  Hermione, though, was being very quiet and seemed very intent on making sure everything was done just perfectly; sleep didn't seem to be on her agenda.

"It's ready," Hermione announced, drawing Harry out of his tired thoughts.  She glanced once more at her book before reaching for her bag, removing the empty Butterbeer bottle they'd had left over from dinner, and filling it; it was almost transparent but with a slightly bluish shade, certainly much more appealing than the Polyjuice Potion had been.  She set the ladle back into the cauldron with the extra potion and then got to her feet.

"You sure you did it right?" Ron asked, appearing slightly uneasy all of a sudden.

"I think so," she said with a furrowed brow.  "It _should _work."

Ron stood up, and Harry stepped forward, meeting his friends in the center of the small bathroom.  Hermione looked nervous, too, and Harry knew that she was second-guessing herself as she always tended to do; he was confident with her potion brewing ability, though.

"So, we just drink this and then do the rest, right?  You know how to do all of it?"  Harry looked at Hermione and saw her bite her lip slightly and nod.

"Yes, it should work," she repeated.  She looked at them expectantly.  "Ready?"  They both nodded, and she took a deep breath before raising the bottle to her lips and taking a long drink.  She swallowed and lowered the bottle, her eyes blinking with the taste.  "It's not bad," she said quietly, offering the bottle to Harry.

He took it and decided not to hesitate before taking his own dose.  The liquid went down his throat smoothly, tasting slightly of mint.  He actually felt it settle in his stomach and waited to see if there was any effect.  There wasn't.

"Is anything supposed to happen?" he asked uncertainly.

Hermione shook her head.  "No, not until the spell's performed."

Harry held the bottle out to Ron, who took it and raised it to his lips immediately.  He, too, took a long sip before lowering it and taking a moment to taste it.  

"What now?" he asked when he apparently realized that he wasn't going to choke.  

Hermione took the bottle from him and knelt down.  She dumped the excess potion back into the cauldron and then replaced the bottle into her bag, pausing a moment before withdrawing the knife she'd nicked from the kitchen.  Harry felt his own nervousness start to settle into the pit of his stomach; the full reality of what they were about to do washed over him, and he wondered if they were doing the right thing.  He glanced over at Ron and saw the same feelings reflected in his best friend's eyes.

Hermione dipped the knife into the cauldron for a minute and then stood back up and spoke in a very business-like voice.  "Okay, who's first?"

Harry, knowing that this was all for him, pushed his uneasiness aside and firmly said, "I'll go."

Hermione looked at him for a moment before slowly reaching for one of his hands and lifting it between them.  She turned it over in her own and once again drew in a steadying breath.  "It'll work," she said quietly, looking into his eyes very determinedly.  Harry nodded and focused his gaze on a place behind her head.  She placed the blade against his palm, and he noticed how cool it was before he felt her bear down and cut into his flesh.  He bit down hard on his back teeth as she made a perfectly straight line.  "You okay?" she asked softly, lifting the knife.  He nodded, looking down at the blood now dripping from the cut; his mind, though, drifted.

_"Kill the spare..."_

_"Blood of thy enemy, forcefully taken..."_

"Harry?"  He jumped slightly, not having realized how quickly his mind could wander.  Hermione was staring at him with a look full of concern, but he shook his head, partly to tell her that he was alright but mostly to try and shake the memories away.  "I need to do the other hand..."  He swallowed and offered her his left hand.  This time, though, instead of focusing on something else, he watched intently as she pushed the blade along his palm and drew more blood to the surface.  He didn't feel the dull ache anymore; he didn't feel anything.

In fact, the only thing that he could even see anymore was blood dripping into a bubbling cauldron.  In the back of his head, he heard a shrill cry of agony as a knife rose and dropped onto the wrist of a small man.  There was blood everywhere now...

  
And _He _was back.

He was back, and the only answer was death.

"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives..."

"Harry!"  Hermione's sharp voice made him jump slightly, and he stared at her, his breath feeling shorter by the second.  "Harry, are you okay?"

He stared at her and saw that Ron was looking at him just as strangely as Hermione was.  They didn't know; neither of them knew.  They didn't know that he was either going to kill or be killed, just as the prophecy had instructed.  It was the only way.

And they didn't know.

"I'm fine," he said quickly, blinking away the images, which were filling his head and once again bringing himself back to reality.  His hands were throbbing, he could feel them now, and he winced slightly as Hermione handed him the knife, which she had just cleaned off in the potion.  The rough wood of the blade slid against the cuts on his palm, and he tried not to notice them, though it was a futile attempt.

Hermione looked at him curiously but apparently knew enough not to pry.  She nodded slightly and very quietly said, "You need to do Ron's now."

He nodded and turned to face his best friend.  Ron was looking at the blood, which was now dripping onto Harry's wrist, but he held out his own hands willingly.  Harry forced his mind clear, knowing that concentration on this part was extremely important, and he took a deep breath before carefully putting enough pressure onto the blade to where it cut into skin.  He felt Ron wince slightly, but he didn't protest when Harry dragged the knife and made a perfectly straight cut, nor did he say anything when Harry switched and performed the same actions on the other palm.  

"You need to wash it off now because the bloods can't mix yet," Hermione said, and Harry knew she was nervously awaiting the final bit of this part, which would be her own cutting.  He nodded and bent down to soak the blade in the excess potion and noticed with vague interest that the blood didn't stain the potion red as he would have expected, but instead seemed to disappear within it.  He stood back up and handed the knife over to Ron, who took it with hesitation.

He stared at it for a moment, and it was clear that he wasn't too keen on cutting anyone, least of all Hermione.  Hermione, for her part, was biting down on her lower lip, and she nodded quickly when Ron muttered a very quiet apology that sounded so sincere Harry could almost feel it.  Her eyes squeezed shut as soon as the metal touched her open palm, and Harry saw Ron's own hand shaking as he cut into Hermione's.  There was no time wasted between the first and second hand, though, as they both seemed to want to get it over as quickly as possible.

Harry expected the tears in Hermione's eyes when she opened them, but she blinked them away quickly, refusing to let them actually fall.  Ron tried to look at her, and she finally met his glance, nodding her head and answering his unasked question of if she was okay.  Drawing in a very long breath, she once again took the knife and placed it back into her bag, glancing at the book once more and reading over the last bit.  

She stood back up and looked from one to the other.  "All that's left is the spell."

"You know it, right?" Harry asked, just to make certain because she had assured them that she had learnt the spell and knew it from heart.  She'd also said it wasn't necessary for all of them to know it.

"I know it," she answered calmly, inhaling slowly once again.  She looked at them.  "Ready?"

This was the most important part, the part that classified the spell as Dark magic.  It was when their blood would mix and the protection be placed over them, though there was no such thing as full-protection.  Harry nodded to answer her question and assumed that Ron had done the same despite the fact that he didn't look over.  With a very firm nod, Hermione held one hand out to each of them.  Harry hesitated just a second, thinking the whole thing over in his head for what he knew would be the final time before placing one hand in hers and one into Ron's.  

Nothing happened.

He looked over at Hermione to ask if this was normal, but she had already started muttering something in Latin that Harry couldn't make out.  He didn't know much as it was, and he wasn't very good with what he did know; Hermione, though, had always been quite skilled with the language, so he trusted that she was saying something that wasn't going to curse them all into toads or something equally as uninviting.  He glanced over at Ron and briefly met the other boy's eye; it was evident that both of them were nervous but neither of them wanted to let on just how much so.  The last few unfamiliar words tumbled out of Hermione's mouth, and there was a moment of complete silence and stillness.

Then, all at once, everything changed.

  
Harry wasn't sure if he was spinning or if it was the room that was partaking in the action; all he knew was that he saw everything shooting past him and he could barely stand up.  There was a tugging at his belly that reminded him strongly of traveling by Portkey.  The strangest thing, however, was the sensation of actually feeling the blood leave his body and his friends' bloods entering.  It wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but it was probably the weirdest feeling he'd ever had in his life.  

  
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the spinning stopped, and everything went still.

Harry somehow managed to keep his footing, but Hermione, being by far the smallest of the three, stumbled and hit the bathroom floor on all fours, her knees hitting with a thud and a stifled groan from her.  Harry was closest, so he helped her up, only to be shrugged away as she pushed past him and kicked the cauldron out of the way as she turned around in a rush.  Without so much as a warning, she threw her head over the edge of the toilet and threw up.

Harry didn't know what to do, nor, did it appear, did Ron.  They looked at each other in question as to whether they should help her or just let her be sick until she was finished.  Before they had a chance to ponder the problem much longer, though, she had done all the vomiting she could do and was sitting back on her knees, breathing heavily for a few moments.  She reached up to wipe at her mouth and gasped quietly as she looked at her hands.  Harry looked down at his own and was shocked to find that the cuts had completely healed themselves, leaving no sign or even a mark to show that they had been bleeding just seconds before.  He glanced at Ron's and Hermione's and saw that theirs, too, were totally healed up.

"Are...  Are you okay?" Ron asked warily.  

To his surprise, and Harry's, Hermione glared and stood up, whirling around and addressing Ron directly.  "Why didn't you get sick?" she demanded hotly.

Ron took an unconscious step backwards, and Harry knew that there was nothing but confusion filling his head at Hermione's reaction.  "What?" he managed, eyeing her timidly.

  
"Why didn't you get sick?" she repeated, her eyes now blazing.

"I..."

"I got sick!  Why didn't you?"

Ron looked around for help, but Harry didn't know what sort to give.  "Harry didn't get sick, either," he pointed out.

"He wouldn't," she said firmly.  "But I did, so you should have!"

"Why?" he asked, his own eyes changing slightly, as he watched her totally uncomprehendingly.

"Because of this!"  She motioned between them.  "Muggle...  Wizarding."

"Huh?"

Harry was no clearer than Ron was.

"All of my blood is Muggle, and all of yours is Wizarding.  I got sick because of yours!"

"But Harry-"

"Harry already had both!" she finished without hesitation.  "But it doesn't make any sense!  Your blood made me sick, so why didn't mine make you sick?"

"I don't know, Hermione!" Ron said, finally losing some of his temper.  "Do you want me to gag myself and make myself throw up?  Will that make you happy?!"

  
"Don't be stupid!"

"Then what the hell do you want me to do?" he demanded, his voice now just as hot as hers.  "I don't understand!"

"Me, either!"  She shook her head, her face no longer angry but now almost frightened.  "It doesn't make any sense.  But this is horrible..."

"What is?"

Harry watched as Hermione put a hand to her forehead and took a moment to seemingly think something over.  Finally, though, she shook her head and said, "Don't you get it?  Purebloods have the means to make all the Muggles and Muggle-borns in the world ill if they want to.  And all they have to use is... their own blood."

*****************************************************************

  
Ron glanced at the calendar over his bed before he climbed under his covers.  There were still two days before the start of their sixth term, and he, along with his two best friends, had just performed a very powerful and very risky spell, a spell that was classified as Dark magic.

  
Hermione had gotten sick because of it, and Ron couldn't help but feel guilty.  He knew that there was nothing he could do, but it had, after all, been his blood that had made her ill.  He didn't want to hurt her, and he would have given anything to take it back.  But there were some things that couldn't be redone.

The spell had given them one advantage, though.  At least now they knew that the potential was there for dangerous activities involving blood; whether or not anyone else was aware, though, was still unknown to them.  They couldn't very well warn anyone, either, because if they had gone to his parents with the information, both his mum and his dad would have had all three of their heads for doing such a spell.  They couldn't go to any of their teachers, either, because they were just as likely to get in trouble with them as they were with his parents.

There was nothing to do except keep the knowledge private and hope that it didn't somehow become public.

One good thing, though, was that now they had an extra protective ward surrounding them.  Ron knew, of course, that it could only do so much, but at least it was there.  Harry needed all the help he could get right now, and Ron would have done anything for him.

He glanced over at the camp bed into which Harry had climbed moments before and already appeared to be fast asleep in, and he thought back to Harry's reaction after Hermione had cut into his hands.  He'd seemed to fade away into a totally different dimension at the sight of the blood, and Ron suspected that it had to do quite a bit with memories of the night at the end of their fourth year when Harry had been tied to a gravestone and had his arm sliced open.  Harry had actually never told him the story personally, but he, along with everyone else in the wizarding world, had read the interview in The Quibbler and knew the details.  Or at the very least, the gist.

Thinking about those sorts of things made everything seem too real to Ron.  He knew, of course, that they were all in danger, but up until just recently, he'd been able to push the thoughts aside.  There was something about being kidnapped and having the Cruciatus Curse hurled at you in an alleyway, though, that made ignoring the obvious impossible.  

A war was starting, and Harry was right at the middle of it.

People wanted to kill his best friend, but Ron had always known that there were some things worth sacrificing yourself for.  He'd realized that when he was just barely twelve years old and facing a giant chess set.  Two years later, he'd vowed to die for his best friend when they were being faced with, what they knew to be, a convicted murderer.  And things hadn't changed.

Harry Potter was his best friend, and that was one thing that would never change.

It was because of that one simple fact that he'd gone through with the spell.  If he could do anything to help Harry, he was going to do it.  It didn't matter what or how or even why because Harry was one of those things worth sacrificing for.

Even if the prospect was... terrifying.

There were some things worth being terrified over.  

****************************************************************************

Back to Hogwarts in the next chapter!  Yay!!!    
  
Anyway, reviews are fabulous!


	11. The Sorting

A/N:  Thanks to everyone for their comments on the last chapter!

  
Disclaimer:  I don't own too much of anything, and what I _do _own certainly does not include Harry Potter or any of his friends.

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Platform 9 ¾ didn't seem any different than it normally did.  Harry wasn't sure why he had expected it to be, but there had been some lingering doubt in his mind as to whether anyone would let their children return to school with him now that they had no choice but to believe that Voldemort was back and definitely after one in particular target- namely him.

He and Ron dragged their trunks away from the barrier just as Ginny and Hermione appeared and nearly collided with them.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had accompanied them to London but had not joined them on the Platform, leaving early to "tend to some business."  They had wished them well, and Mrs. Weasley had nearly choked all of them separately in hugs so tight it made it difficult to breathe.  Her eyes had been welling with tears as she told them good-bye, and Harry could tell that she was more worried than anyone should ever have to be.

"Holy shit."  The dry statement had come from Ginny and had caused the other three to look at her curiously.  She, however, was looking a little away from them at something, or rather _someone, _a bit down the Platform.  Harry, like Ron and Hermione followed her gaze, and Ron was the next to speak, echoing his sister's sentiment exactly.

"Holy shit."

_"What?" _Hermione demanded, obviously put off by the use of language from the Weasley siblings and also obviously curious as to what was worth swearing about.  Harry, though, was pretty sure he knew, and his suspicion was confirmed when another voice joined the mix, this one loud and demanding.

"Ronald!  Virginia!"  A woman with short blonde hair was hurrying in their direction, a young girl with hair that happened to be the exact same shade as Ron's and Ginny's following closely behind.  The woman stopped just short of them and sent an appraising look across the group, "Well, you've both certainly grown," she said, nodding importantly at Ron and Ginny.  "How've you been?"

"Good, thanks," said Ginny with an air of false-sweetness.  "And yourself?"

"I can't complain.  How is your father doing?  I heard about what happened."

Ron and Ginny exchanged slightly annoyed glances before Ginny once again answered.  "Oh, he's doing well, actually.  Thanks for asking."

"Are your parents here with you?"  She craned her neck, but Ginny shook her head.

"No, they just dropped us off."

"They trust you on your own?"  She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.  "Well, I suppose you're old enough, but I also heard about your brothers- a joke shop, isn't it?  Surely, they aren't _that _immature, are they?"

"They're very successful," said Ron, speaking up for the first time.  "Maybe you didn't hear that bit, though."

The woman looked slightly taken aback at his reply but recovered quickly and said, "Well, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?  It's terribly impolite not to, you know."

Both of the Weasley siblings appeared to be biting their tongues, and it was no surprise that Ginny finally ended up being the one to speak.  "Of course," she said forcefully.  "Aunt Marielle, this is Hermione and this is Harry."

"Harry Potter?"  

Harry nodded uncomfortably, and Ginny sighed slightly.  "Yes," she brushed on.  "Harry, Hermione, this is our Aunt Marielle and this is our cousin, Willa."  She motioned to the red-headed child who hadn't so much as spoken yet.

"Nice to meet you," said Hermione, always polite.  She smiled at them both and addressed Willa.  "Are you starting school this year?"

Willa nodded, and Harry noticed that she had a slightly upturned nose.  "Yes, it's my first year."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll have loads of fun," Hermione carried on in an obvious attempt to be friendly and ease the obvious tension.  "The castle is amazing."

"I'm sure it is," answered Willa simply.  "It's over a thousand years old, and according to _Hogwarts, A History, _it is the oldest wizarding school still standing in its original form.  I'm sure there is a ton of information to learn from its original architecture."

Harry glanced at Ron, who was staring at his cousin with a look of slightly sickened disbelief; Ginny looked much the same way.  Hermione, though, was beaming and looked as if she'd just found her kindred spirit in the body of an eleven year old girl.  

"Well," said Aunt Marielle briskly, "do tell your parents that I wish them well.  We better get Willa situated."  

Ron and Ginny nodded, but as soon as their aunt and cousin were far enough away, both of their smiles turned to grimaces, and Ron said, "Stupid bitch."

Hermione opened her mouth to scold, but Harry cut her off.  "I take it she's not your favorite relative..."

"Understatement of the century," Ginny said with a roll of her eyes.

"Her husband is dad's brother.  No one can stand either of them or Willa."

"Oh, Willa's just a little kid," said Hermione with a frown.  It was clear that she couldn't fathom how anyone who could quote _Hogwarts, A History _could be all that bad.  
  


"She's a brat," Ron said flatly.

"She's eleven," Hermione said again.

"She's a brat," Ginny concurred with a nod.  Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.  "I didn't realize she was old enough yet.  I was sort of hoping she was still only like seven."

"Me, too," said Ron with a sigh.  He shrugged and grabbed the handle of his trunk.  "Well, we'd better store this stuff on the train," he said resignedly.  The others nodded and followed him onto the bright red Hogwarts' Express.  They found a compartment about halfway back that was empty, and they all stored their trunks in it, Ron and Hermione disappearing to the Prefect's compartment.

"Aren't you going to meet Dean?" Harry asked as Ginny shoved a cat treat through the cage at Crookshanks.

She frowned and shook her head.  "Nah, I don't really like Seamus, and I'm sure they're sitting together."

"What's wrong with Seamus?"  He sat down across from her and followed her lead by feeding treats to Pig and Hedwig, both of whom hooted appreciatively.  

  
Ginny rolled her eyes and shrugged.  "Nothing, I guess.  He's just...  I don't know, I just don't prefer him."

Harry considered this in his head; he knew that most of the girls, with the exception of maybe Lavender Brown, thought Seamus was a bit overzealous and Hermione had even once described him as a disgusting pig, but Harry had always been rather fond of Seamus, excepting, of course, the time during last year when Seamus had believed he was a nutter.    
  
Harry was just about to take this time alone with Ginny to snag the very edited version of the story Hermione had undoubtedly told her about _why _she had suddenly decided that kissing Ron was a good idea, but the compartment door slid open, and Neville appeared, looking at them nervously.

"Hi, Neville," Ginny said brightly.

Neville smiled back, still looking slightly apprehensive.  "Hi.  Can I sit in here?"

Harry looked at him curiously.  "Yeah, of course.  How was your summer?" he asked as Neville dragged his trunk into the compartment and stored it beside Ginny's.    
  


"Fine, I guess," said Neville with a shrug.  "No different than normal, really."

"That's good," said Harry as Neville sat across from him and started fiddling with the cushion of the seat.  
  


"I heard about what happened to Ron and Hermione in Diagon Alley.  Are they okay?"

Harry still felt the subject to be a touchy one; he still wasn't completely over the fact that his best friends had been kidnapped in a ploy to get him.  However, he forced himself to answer with, "Yeah, they're good."

"They're _together," _Ginny added slyly, her eyes twinkling just enough to make Harry notice them.

"Together?"  Neville wrinkled his forehead slightly.  "Together for what?  The Prefects' meeting?"

"No!" said Ginny, exasperated.  "They're _together _together.  You know..."

  
Realization dawned on Neville's round face, and his eyes grew wide.  "Ohhh..."  He stopped to consider this revelation and then shook his head slowly.  "Wow, that's... unexpected..."

Maybe to Neville, but Harry had a sinking suspicion that everyone else would have already realized it long before either Ron or Hermione were ready to admit it.  Truthfully, though, they did seem as mismatched as two people could possibly be.  Harry was just surprised that they had now lasted almost four weeks without killing each other; he was thankful, on the other hand, that he had not so much as glimpsed them holding hands and extremely thankful that he hadn't seen anything else.  Sometimes, in fact, he wondered if they were even really together, but then he would catch a secret glance that wasn't meant for him and things seemed to make sense.

"Hello."  A familiar sort of dreamy voice filled Harry's ears just as the train started to move.  He looked at the doorway and saw Luna Lovegood standing in the frame and smiling at them all with that odd sort of grin that always seemed to be permanently plastered on her heart-shaped face.  

Harry smiled at her, a sense of calming filling him as he caught sight of her.  There was no attraction there, as Ron and Hermione had so obviously hinted at, but he felt at ease around her, felt as though she understood something that no one else did.  They all greeted her, and she stepped further into the compartment, her trunk dragging behind her.

"I almost missed the train," she told them, without any other sort of small talk.  "Daddy was at a conference this morning and nearly didn't finish in time to get me here."

She sat down beside Harry and across from Ginny, who smiled politely and said, "Well, good thing because missing the train would have been awful."  She grinned in Harry's direction.  "Harry missed it once."

Luna turned her attention to Harry, who was rolling his eyes at the memory.  "Yes, I remember, it was my first year.  You flew Ronald's car into the Whomping Willow."

"_Ron _flew it into the tree," he corrected.  "And it was his dad's car."

"Your dad," Luna said, looking at Ginny.  Ginny nodded, and Luna did the same.  "He got fired."

Ginny's cheeks turned red very quickly, and she was apparently trying very hard not to sound vicious.  She settled with what Harry considered a very quiet and very controlled, "I know."

Luna, not seeming to notice that Ginny was offended by her statement, carried right on.  "My father said it was complete crap.  He said Fudge is an idiot and that your dad was one of the few sane people the Ministry had left."

This seemed to soothe Ginny slightly, and she managed a sort of half-smile.  "Yeah, I guess he was."

"Your brothers are doing well, though," Luna continued; it was a statement and not a question.  "I visited their shop when I went for my supplies.  It was very bright."

Mention of the twins' store made Ginny brighten considerably, and she grinned and nodded.  "Yeah, it's great."

After about an hour of chit-chat, the witch with the food cart arrived, and Harry bought enough sweets to keep them busy for the rest of the trip.  Neville and Ginny dug right in, but Luna didn't take any, stating that her father had packed her a lunch, which apparently contained many of her favorite things, though Harry had never heard of any of it.  

When the Prefects' meeting finally let out, Ron and Hermione appeared and took seats, both reaching for Chocolate Frogs immediately and both wearing scowls.    
  


"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, looking from one to the other.

Ron answered, his voice edged with anger.  "Malfoy's just talking shit like usual."  The answer was nondescript, but Harry knew exactly what Draco Malfoy would be using as his favorite conversation topic this year.  Ron bit the head off of the frog and said, "Like his dad's making their family real proud by being locked up in Azkaban, right?"

"Just ignore him," Harry said.  "He only says stuff to get attention."  It was Harry's new plan for the year- ignore everyone and everything that annoyed him.  He didn't know if it would work, but Hermione seemed to be able to do it quite well, so maybe he could, too.

  
However, it was Hermione who answered him.  "It's sort of hard to ignore him when he's completely blocking the aisle and telling everyone with hearing distance about each of the summer's Ministry employment changes."

"Like everyone doesn't already know," Ron added vengefully.  "I just _hate _him."

"He's very fit, though, isn't he?"  It was Luna who had spoken, her voice ringing out into the compartment and cutting into the conversation.  She was so completely random that Harry could hardly believe it; what he certainly could _not _believe, though, was what she had just said.

Apparently, no one else could, either.

_"What?!"_

The question had come from five voices, all spoken in unison disbelief.  Everyone in the compartment was staring at Luna as though she had just grown a second head.  She, of course, appeared completely nonplussed.

"Well, he is," she said lightly.  "I know he's rotten, but he's quite cute."

No one said a word, apparently still far too stunned to comment.

When she got no response, Luna sighed.  "He _is."  _She looked at Hermione for reassurance of her claim, but Hermione just stared back at her with wide eyes and a slightly sickened look on her face and slowly shook her head.  When Hermione turned out to be no help, Luna turned to Ginny; Harry expected her to have the same reaction as Hermione, but to his horror, Ginny didn't do anything for a moment and actually seemed to be considering the statement before shrugging one shoulder and tilting her head from side to side.

"Ginny!"  Ron looked totally horrified.  "You are _not _serious!"  

"Well, honestly, he is sort of cute."  Ron looked as if he was trying to decide whether to kill himself or to kill his sister.  Luckily, though, she saved herself and said, "But that doesn't disguise the fact that he's a spoiled bastard who ought to be boiled in frog slime."

The rest of the train trip went on with idle talk and a few games of Exploding Snap.  No one touched the subject of Draco Malfoy again, and luckily, Malfoy didn't seem to find it necessary to peek in on them and make any snide comments; perhaps he was remembering the last train ride he'd been on when he'd made the mistake of threatening Harry in front of a whole compartment full of D.A. members.  Other people stuck their heads in from time to time, though, and before the train had even pulled into Hogwarts, a D.A. meeting had been set up for the following Tuesday; they were going to continue with that no matter what happened. 

Several hours later, Harry found himself seated at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, dressed in his school kit and robes.  The trip in the carriages hadn't been as big of a shock as it had been the previous year, as he was getting rather used to seeing the Thestrals.  Hagrid had greeted him with a friendly slap on the back as usual, but Harry couldn't find it in him to be as enthusiastic as usual to the half-giant.  He wasn't rude, but he hadn't been exactly friendly.  He somehow didn't think he'd be able to feel completely at ease with _any _of the Hogwarts' staff now that so many things had changed.

He glanced up at the staff table and saw that there were still several places empty.  Professor Dumbledore was already seated, as were most of the other teachers, but beside the obvious absences of Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, who were both dealing with the first years, the seat that Snape normally occupied, along with the seat directly beside it, were empty.  Harry glanced down the table a bit and saw that Dean had apparently ditched Seamus long enough to sit beside Ginny during the Sorting Feast.  Seamus, on the other hand, was laughing with Lavender and Parvati over something that they all three apparently found hilarious.

When Professor McGonagall led the first years into the Hall, there was still no sign of Snape or of whoever was supposed to be occupying the seat beside him, presumably the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as there were no unfamiliar faces at the staff table.  Harry watched as the first years marched in behind McGonagall, all looking scared to death and incredibly young; he couldn't believe that he and his friends had ever been _that _small.  

The Sorting Hat sang a new song, which, this year, seemed to be quite the same as usual instead of the new moralistic song that the Hat had opted for the year before.  McGonagall explained how the Sorting worked, and Harry, along with everyone else, craned their necks a bit to watch as the ceremony began.  

"Atherton, Jayne."

A rather plump looking little girl with curly blonde hair stepped forward nervously and took a seat upon the stool, closing her eyes briefly when Professor McGonagall placed the Hat upon her head.  A few seconds later, the brim opened up, and the hat said, "RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table erupted into applause as Jayne Atherton hopped down from the stool and hurried over to join her new housemates.  

"Baxter, Bradley" turned out to be another Ravenclaw, and "Brentley, Danyella" was sorted into Hufflepuff.

The first Gryffindor to be sorted was "Craven, Matthew," a bookish looking boy with glasses too large for his tiny eyes.

"Cutter, Alexander" was the first Slytherin, and "Davidson, Eleanor" became the third Ravenclaw.  

The Sorting went on and on, and around the J's, Harry started to feel hungry.  One name caught his attention, though, and he looked up when Professor McGonagall called, "Patil, Indira."  A little girl that was unmistakably the younger sister of the Patil twins made her way to the stool and climbed onto it, looking quite a bit more confident than a lot of the other first years had.  After a brief deliberation, the hat sorted her into, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry saw Padma throw a fake-annoyed glance at Parvati who smirked smugly back at her from across the Great Hall.  Indira took a seat beside another first year Gryffindor whose name Harry was pretty sure had been Rachel, and she glanced up the table at Parvati, who winked at her.  Being in better viewing range, Harry was initially struck with the thought that Indira could have been a triplet to Parvati and Padma if it weren't for her much smaller body; she looked almost remarkably identical to the twins.

The Sorting continued until there were only two students left.  "Weasley, Willa."

Harry watched with curiosity as Willa took her seat upon the stool, the calm and collected air still evident in all parts of her demeanor.  The Hat was placed on her head, and after a rather lengthy moment, it opened its brim to yell, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry looked at once at Ron, whose mouth had fallen open slightly.  Ginny turned around in her chair instantly, and the siblings stared at each other in what was obvious quite stunned disbelief.  They weren't the only ones who were shocked, though; several people were whispering about this new Weasley that had gone, not to Gryffindor as all the others, but to Slytherin.  Harry caught sight of Malfoy and saw that he was staring at the newest addition to his house with obvious disgust and distaste.  

When the whispers died down, "Zio, Madea" went to Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall removed the hat from the stool and went to join her fellow teachers at the staff table.  Ron, though, was still apparently too stunned with the Sorting of his cousin to notice that two more teachers had just slipped into the Great Hall and were taking the empty seats.  One was, unfortunately, Professor Severus Snape, Potions master and Harry's least favorite teacher.  The other, though, was the one that really shocked him.

_"It's Tonks!" _ Hermione had blurted it out in an anxious whisper before Harry could even comprehend it.  Ron's head jerked around immediately, and he, too, seemed to be totally speechless.  Sure enough, Nymphadora Tonks was seating herself between Snape and Professor Flitwick.  Ginny apparently caught sight of the newest addition to the staff table, too, and she spun around in her seat to stare at them with widened eyes that spoke her own disbelief.

Professor McGonagall called for attention, and the Hall silenced immediately.  She was one of the few teachers who could demand such undivided attention, and the students all quieted for her as Dumbledore stood up to begin his usual start of the year speech.

"Welcome, students, staff, and ghosts to the start of a new school year.  First years will note that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits, as should many of the older students.  I would like to welcome a new member of our staff, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Tonks."  

Harry grinned at Ron and Hermione, who also appeared quite elated with the news.  Tonks stood up to wave to the students, all of whom were cheering loudly, apparently thinking that this young woman with bubblegum pink hair could be nothing but a million times better than Professor Umbridge had been the year before.

"I hope you all make her feel welcome in our school, and I trust that her stay will be pleasant.  Now, there is only one thing left to do.  Tuck in!"

There were more cheers as the tables filled with plates and plates of food, and everyone dug into the Sorting Feast.

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"Can you believe Tonks is the Defense teacher?"  These were the first words out of Ron's mouth when he returned to the dormitory after showing the first years where to go.  Harry was unpacking his trunk, along with Seamus, Dean, and Neville, and he looked over the edge of his bed when Ron entered.

"I know," he said with a grin.  "This is going to be so great!"

"You know her?" Seamus glanced at them from his own pile of clothes, which he was trying to get situated.

"Yeah."  Ron opened his trunk and peered inside at the clothes, which he hadn't bothered to fold before packing.  "She's awesome."

"Wasn't she at the Department of Mysteries?"  Neville spoke quietly, almost as if he were afraid to mention the night back in June.  Harry, though, nodded.

"Yeah, she was there."

  
"She's the Auror that got fired, isn't she?" Seamus said with revelation.  He glanced warily at Ron, who, for once, didn't grow all sullen with the mention of the Ministry dismissals.

"One of them," he answered with a shrug.

"She looks so young, though," Dean said, tossing his stack of books onto the floor between his bed and Neville's.  

"She's like twenty-five or something," Ron said, shrugging once again.  "She's the youngest Auror on the force right now.  Or she was anyway."

"Well, anything's got to be better than Umbitch."  Seamus snickered at his clever naming, and soon all the others joined in.

"Oh, Harry," said Dean suddenly.  "I've got your Charms' homework."  He dug through his stack of parchment and retrieved Harry's assignment and walking over to return it.

"Why do you have his homework?" asked Neville curiously.

"I copied it," said Dean with a shrug.  "But he copied his from Hermione, so who cares?"

At Hermione's name, Seamus sat up and climbed onto his knees with a keen little smirk on his face.  "Yeah, Ron, speaking of Hermione..."

  
Ron turned red and immediately put his defenses up.  "What about her?"

"Well, Dean just said you were, you know... So?"

"And how does Dean know?" asked Ron, turning his glare in Dean's direction, who did nothing but roll his eyes.

"I guess because maybe Ginny told me."

Apparently the reminder of Ginny and Dean made Ron grimace, and he looked as if he were trying to think of something horrible to say, but Seamus, also apparently reminded, beat him to it.

"Yeah, and speaking of _Ginny..."  _He raised his eyebrows at Dean, who grinned.

"Shut it," Ron said warningly.  "That's my little sister."

"Oh, please," said Dean.  "She's not so little anymore."

Harry tended to agree, but he didn't _dare _open his mouth.

"Yeah, you've got a new little sister to take care of now," said Seamus.  "Or whatever she is anyway- the Slytherin one."

"She's my cousin," said Ron with a scowl.

"How the hell did she end up in Slytherin?"

Shrugging, Ron started removing his clothes from the trunk and putting them away, wrinkles and all.  "Probably because she's a stuck-up little brat."

"She should fit in nicely then," Dean observed.

"Did you see Parvati's little sister?" asked Neville, speaking up for the first time in awhile.  "I didn't even know she had a little sister."

"I did," Seamus said, tossing a few spare socks onto his bed to pair up.  "Parvati said she's a bit of a tomboy."

"_How?" _Harry asked in disbelief.  "Parvati and Padma are the furthest thing possible from tomboys, and their sister looks just like them."

Seamus shrugged.  "I dunno.  Parvati said she's always been like that, loves to fight and get dirty and whatnot."

Harry couldn't believe that, nor did it seem could anyone else.  Dean wrinkled his face up and said, "Yeah, I can't see it at all."

Seamus just shrugged again, and the conversation turned to something else.  

Later that night, as Harry climbed into his four-poster and sunk beneath the blankets, he lay awake and tried to imagine what was waiting for him for this school year.  The first time he'd ever fallen asleep in that bed, he'd been eleven years old and totally innocent; that little boy hadn't known anything about the wizarding world or the prejudices and fear that it was capable of.  He didn't know that he would be lying there five years later with the weight of the world on his shoulders, didn't know that he would have been faced with even a fraction of the things that had happened to him over the years.  But Harry was growing up now, and he was ready to accept that he'd been given a title when he was only fifteen months old and he was ready to face up to whatever came with that title.

He drifted off to sleep somewhere between his thoughts about what it meant to be The Boy Who Lived and what it would mean in the future.    
  
The last coherent thought he had before drifting into a dreamless sleep was that he only hoped he had some sort of future to look forward to.

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 A/N:  Well, they're back at school now!  Originally, I had planned on making Mark Evans into a first year, but I thought that would require too much back-story and just decided against it.  Anyway, feedback is always appreciated!


	12. Lessons Learned

A/N:  Thanks so much for reading!

Disclaimer:  Nothing here belongs to me...

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The first day of classes was looking to be a rather good one.

Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione at the breakfast table as Professor McGonagall strolled up and down the table handing out schedules to the younger students.  The sixth and seventh years already had theirs, of course, and Harry glanced down at his own.  Hermione, apparently seeing him, asked what he had for the day.

"Defense, Transfiguration, break, lunch, break, Care of Magical Creatures."

"Me, too," said Ron unnecessarily since it was already known to all of them that he and Ron were taking the same classes and, therefore, had the same schedule.  He glanced over at Hermione and said, "What about you?"

She read off her schedule in a clear voice.  "Defense, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, lunch, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures."

Harry couldn't believe she was still taking so much, nor, did it seem, could Ron.  _"Why, _Hermione?" he asked in disbelief.  "What's the point of History of Magic?  You're probably going to be the only person in the class!"

"And you'll probably get very bored with all those breaks," she said calmly, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I don't think boredom will be a problem."

"Fine."  She shrugged.  "Have fun then."

They left early from breakfast and were therefore some of the first few to arrive at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  Almost immediately, though, the room filled to its capacity.  As they were sixth years now, all of their classes were optional.  Any student from the year, regardless of House, who wanted to take Defense Against the Dark Arts was enrolled in the same class.  It was going to be the same with all of their subjects.  Harry noticed that Defense appeared to be quite popular, as he'd never seen so many students in one class before; it seemed, in fact, that nearly _everyone _had signed up for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it turned out to be a good thing that they'd gotten to class early because before long, every single seat was taken.

The classroom was filled with the normal early school year gossip and snickering as people caught up with each other, but they quieted immediately when the new professor entered the room, her hair now a bright purple and her cheeks a breathless pink.

"Good morning," she said brightly as she made her way to the front of the class, winking quickly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as she passed them.  "How is everyone this morning?"

A few people mumbled, "Fine," but for the most part, everyone seemed to have grown suddenly tired and unenthusiastic, as was the norm with any first class of the morning.

"Not awake, I see," said Tonks, reaching her desk and perching herself onto it, her legs dangling in front of her.  "Perhaps I should take roll to see who we have, yes?"  When no one gave a verbal answer, she sighed slightly and reached for a long piece of parchment, which, presumably, held the names of all the class's students.  "Just let me know if you're here, okay?"

She started reading out the names of the students, and Harry saw people gradually waking up as their names were called.  When she reached Malfoy's name, however, she stopped and looked up for the owner of the voice who called, "Here."

Harry watched as she eyed the Slytherin, apparently shocked to find him Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Harry, too, was surprised, as he had expected Malfoy to drop this class, if any.  However, a smile suddenly took over Tonks's features, and she looked directly at Malfoy.

"Oh, Draco, yes, of course."  Everyone stared at her curiously, and Malfoy gave her a most unflattering appraisal.  She didn't appear to be fazed, though, and she kept on talking, sweetly and casually as though they were old friends.  "We're cousins, did you know?  You and I?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her uncomprehendingly.

"Our mothers are sisters," explained Tonks, in that same sweet tone of hers.  

"What's your mother's name?" Malfoy asked, sitting up straighter and speaking with a tone that was, not sweet like hers, but defiant and hateful.

"Andromeda."

Once again, Malfoy's eyes narrowed, even more so this time, and he stared back at her haughtily.  "My mother only has one sister, and her name isn't Andromeda."

"Oh, yes," Tonks smiled.  "You're referring to dear Auntie Bella.  Tell me, have you heard from her lately?"

She was playing him.  She was purposely patronizing him in front of the entire class, and Harry wasn't even sure whether Malfoy knew it or not.  He was losing just a bit of the calm collectiveness that made it so easy for him to rule the rest of the Slytherins.  He glanced around once, his face coloring slightly, but it was apparent that he wasn't going to completely lose his cool.  

Tonks carried right on, still smiling that sickening sweet smile.  "The last time I saw her, she looked a bit out of sorts.  Of course, it might have just been the situation; after all, I'm sure fourteen years in Azkaban would take the shine out of anyone's eyes."

The mention of Azkaban apparently sealed the deal with Malfoy, and he shoved his seat backwards, stood up, and grabbed his bag.

"Oh, Draco, where are you going?"  Tonks raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not taking this damn class," he spat out furiously.  And with that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked from the room, leaving the class in stunned silence.

It was suddenly very evident to everyone what had just happened.  The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had just upset the ever-so suave Prince of Slytherin and had actually made him lose his cool in front of the entire class.  And the vast majority of that class seemed to have come to a single conclusion.

The new professor was fucking brilliant!

There were the oddities, of course, the few other Slytherins who had opted for the class and a couple of others, who appeared more than taken aback at the outcome of the roll-taking.  Pansy Parkinson, who Harry was sure had _only _joined the class because Malfoy had, was looking about as if she were wondering whether she should stay or follow him.  In the end, she opted to stay because Tonks returned almost immediately to taking attendance; Harry was pretty sure, though, that she would not be attending the next class or any of the ones following that.  He glanced around at the others, though, and saw that most of his classmates were looking suddenly extremely interested in the class and especially in the new professor.

When she finished the roll, Tonks set the parchment aside and scooted backwards on her desk a bit, drawing her knees up to cross them beneath her.  "Well, now that I know who all of _you _are, maybe I should tell you a bit about me."  She paused for a moment and then, obviously not coming up with anything to reveal, said, "Anything you might want to know?"

"What's your first name?"  The question had come from Seamus Finnigan, who had wasted absolutely no time in asking.  His eyes danced merrily as he watched the new teacher.

Tonks eyed him for a moment and then pursed her lips and primly said, "Dora."  

Ron almost broke down into sniggers, but Tonks caught his eye immediately and sent him a look so warning that he immediately shut up.  Harry could just imagine what would happen if she revealed to a room full of sixteen year olds that her name was Nymphadora...

"How old are you?"  This time, Terry Boot had asked the question.  

"I'm twenty-four," she answered, not pausing this time to make up an edited answer, as she had for the last question.

"Are you married?"  Several people snickered as Seamus once again stole the moment to ask a question.

Tonks twisted her lips in a way that made Harry believe she was hiding a grin before she drew in a breath and calmly said, "No, I'm not.  Why?  Is that supposed to be a proposal?"

Seamus turned red as nearly every single student broke into laughter at her response.  Not to be intimidated, though, he simply shrugged and sent her the same sort of inviting look that he normally reserved for Lavender.  Lavender, oddly, was one of the few people who did not seem to find this little exchange humorous.

Tonks finally laughed and rolled her eyes.  "Anybody else?"

And suddenly it seemed as if everybody in the class had a question for the new teacher.  The boys all tried their hand at flirting with her, hoping to get the same response that she'd given Seamus.  They asked everything from, "Do you have a boyfriend?" to "Do you ever give private tutoring?"  Sometimes she blushed and other times she just rolled her eyes, still other times, she actually graced their questions with answers meant to embarrass them.  The girls, too, seemed quite interested in her, though their questions were a bit different.  "How do you get your hair like that?" and "Can you teach us how to do it, too?" were the most frequently asked, and Tonks humored them all with a show of just how easily she could switch from pink hair to gold hair and from a long nose to a short nose.

Pretty soon, the whole class was gabbing away in a way that none of the other teachers had ever dare let them do.  Tonks finally sighed and said loudly, "Okay, okay.  Enough questions.  We should do something productive."

There was a general consensus that this was not a favored idea, and a loud groan echoed through the room as they all looked at her pleadingly.  

"Do we have to?" asked a Hufflepuff named Laura Langerton.  

Tonks, though, put on a pretend sad face and nodded.  "I'm afraid so.  I can't afford to be sacked from two jobs in one month, now can I?"

Oddly enough, this had been one question that had not been asked, and it was Zacharias Smith, who finally asked it.  "Aren't you an Auror?"

"Was," she corrected.  "But then the Ministry got their knickers in a twist and decided I had to go.  And so here I am."  She shrugged her shoulders with the last sentence.

"God bless Cornelius Fudge," said Seamus loudly, his eyes twinkling mischievously.  Immediately, the entire class started laughing again, and Tonks stared at him in disbelief for a moment before finally blushing and laughing.

"Now, if you're finished, Mr. Finnigan-"

"Oh, please, call me Seamus."  He winked at her, and she sputtered for a moment before grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Okay, _Seamus," _she said sarcastically.  "But if you are quite finished, I think we have some reviewing to do."

He shrugged nonchalantly, and everyone straightened up in their seats, apparently no longer finding the prospect of actually doing work so awful.

"Now, what did you learn last year?"

"Nothing," several people answered at once.

Tonks appeared taken aback for a moment before realization took over her features.  "Oh, yes, I forgot.  Dolores Umbridge."

The mere mention of the name had most of the students scowling.

Tonks, though, carried right on as if she didn't notice.  "Okay, then.  What did you learn the year _before _that?"

"We learned about the Unforgivables," said Lindsey Lopez, a Ravenclaw that Harry could hardly remember ever speaking to.  "But I don't know if we were really supposed to."

"Did you find the information useful?"  Lindsey nodded.  "Did you find it interesting?"  Again, a nod.  Tonks nodded her own head.  "Well, then, I don't see why you shouldn't have."

"What are we going to learn this year?" asked Terry Boot.

"Anything you wish to, I suppose," said Tonks with another careless shrug.  "After all, you'll only really absorb things you're interested in, so I suppose I shouldn't even try to teach you the boring things.  What has been the most interesting thing so far?"

"Boggarts," answered Dean Thomas almost immediately.

"You've already done Boggarts?"  Tonks seemed impressed.  "Which year was that?"

"Third."

"You learned about Boggarts in your _third _year?  You must have had a good teacher."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione spoke up for the first time all lesson.  "He was the best."

Tonks grinned at the mention of the name.  "Of course.  Come to think of it, I believe he did mention something about Severus Snape in a frock once."

All of the Gryffindors burst into immediate laughter, though the other Houses seemed a bit confused.  

"You know Professor Lupin?" asked Dean.  

She smiled again and nodded.  "Oh, yes.  I'm quite fond of him."

"Do you fancy him?"  Once again, it was Seamus.

Tonks, like the rest of the class, laughed at his randomness.  "No, actually," she said, though she did turn a bit pink.  "He's a bit older than me."

"Not too much."  Harry, like everyone else (including Tonks), looked at Hermione curiously as she spoke up again, but she didn't seem to notice.  "He's very nice, you know."

"I know, Hermione," said Tonks with a forced smile.  "But, alas, this is not the time for you to be playing matchmaker, now is it?"

Hermione frowned slightly, but she didn't say anything else.  

"Now, if we may _please _leave the subject of my love-life alone for a few minutes, I would like to hear what else you're interested in."

The rest of the class went on, and before long, the bell signaling the end of class was chiming.  Several people groaned, though, and it was obvious that no one wanted to leave the classroom for another lesson.

"Oh, I'll have you again on Wednesday," said Tonks brightly before she grinned and added, "No homework."

As the class finally filed, the corridor was filled with excited chatter.

"She's so cool!" said Padma Patil as she linked arms with one of her Ravenclaw friends, Rachel Banks.

"Forget cool," said Michael Corner to Terry Boot.  "She's hot!"

"Oh, honestly," said Hermione with a slight roll of her eyes.  "But she is quite good, isn't she?"

"She's awesome," agreed Ron.  

Harry nodded, too.  "Yeah, she's great."  And he wasn't lying, either; Tonks seemed to be a natural with the students.

The next class they had was Transfiguration.  This class was slightly smaller than Defense had been, though they were once again joined by Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins who had apparently thought Defense Against the Dark Arts to be below them.  

Of course, Professor McGonagall was already present when they entered the classroom, so there was no hope of a late start with her.  She looked up when so many of her students entered laughing and apparently in very nice moods.

"Good lesson?" she asked, looking up from the stack of parchment on her desk.

"It was wicked!" said Seamus, sliding into a seat between Harry and Dean.  "Professor Tonks is so cool!"

"How very enthusiastic, Mr. Finnigan," said McGonagall, sounding completely unenthused herself.  "Now, if you'll all please quiet down, we can get started with the lesson."

Everyone present knew well enough not to delay when she gave instructions, so they went silent immediately.  She stood up and gathered the parchment.  "Miss Abbott, please pass these out."

Hannah got up and started rounding the class with the handouts while Professor McGonagall continued talking.

"This is your course syllabus.  As this is a N.E.W.T. level class, your work expectancy is much higher, and you'll need to follow this in order to keep up.  The pace is going to be much quicker than anything you've done in the past, and the level of difficulty is going to be much higher."

There was a quiet grumble at this news, though Hermione seemed strangely excited as she looked over her copy of the syllabus.  Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes.  

"If you are not prepared to meet this challenge," she continued, "then I would suggest that you speak to your Head of House immediately and arrange a schedule change.  I will not tolerate anything below your personal best, and if you are not willing to give me this, then I would like to direct you to the door."  At this, she held a hand in the direction of the exit.

No one moved.

She nodded after a pause and walked back to the front of the classroom.  "I assume that all of you have purchased copies of _Advanced Transfiguration.  _Please open to page six."  The familiar noise of people rummaging through their bags was heard, and pretty soon, a copy of the text was in front of each student.  "Turn to the first chapter, and Miss Granger, if you will, please give us a summary of McKlellan's theory on human transfiguration."

It surprised no one that Hermione answered immediately and confidently, giving some elaborate explanation that meant absolutely nothing to Harry.  When she was finished, Professor McGonagall, instead of commenting, turned her attention to another student.

"Mr. Malfoy, did you read the lesson?"  Malfoy nodded.  "Do you concur or disagree with Miss Granger's explanation?"

Malfoy scowled slightly and shot a look of disgust in Hermione's direction before mumbling, "Concur."

"Miss Parkinson, do you concur or disagree?"

Pansy raised her eyebrows slightly and then said, "Concur."

"Mr. Goldstein, concur of disagree?"

"Concur."

"Miss Patil?"

Padma glanced up and quietly said, "Concur."

Continuing through the class, McGonagall passed Ron's desk.  "Weasley, concur of disagree?"

"Concur."

"Mr. Macmillan?"

"Concur."

"And Miss Abbott, concur or disagree?"  

"Concur."

Professor McGonagall walked back to the front of her classroom and faced the students.  "Okay, so all eight of your class Prefects have agreed.  Is there anyone here who would disagree with the theory that Miss Granger presented?"

No one said anything.

"Alright," she nodded and once again started questioning the students.  "Miss Parkinson, did you concur simply because Mr. Malfoy did?"  Everyone looked around at Pansy, who had turned slightly pink.

"No, ma'am," she said uneasily.

"Mr. Weasley, did you agree only because you trust Miss Granger's intelligence?"  Ron looked slightly confused, but the teacher went right on with her questions.  "Miss Abbott, did you agree so that you wouldn't appear any different from the others who had already concurred?"  Hannah bit her lip and looked as if she didn't know whether to answer or not.  "How many of you," said Professor McGonagall to the class, "decided that Miss Granger had to be correct because she had a reputation for being intelligent?"

No one said anything, and Harry could tell that Hermione was getting embarrassed.

"No one will answer me," she continued coolly, "because many of you know that you did exactly that.  While Miss Granger was right with her explanation, not all of you would have given the answer she did if I had asked you the same question.  My point in this, though, is not to teach you anything about McKlellan's theory, as we will have plenty of time for that later.  My point is to get you to think for yourselves."

She leaned against her podium and studied them over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses.  "You are no longer young children.  Many of you will turn seventeen this year, and when you return next year, most of you will be legally able to use magic outside of school.  This is not something to deal with lightly; being of legal age is a great responsibility, and if you are not able to think and make decisions for yourself, you could find yourself in many unfavorable positions and even in danger.  You will find yourselves facing things that give off one appearance and have extremely different properties.  You cannot always trust what you see."  Here, she picked up her wand and scanned the room.  "Miss Patil, Miss Patil, please come up here."

Padma and Parvati glanced nervously at each other, but both rose from their seats and joined the teacher at the front of the classroom.

"Please remove your ties and take down your hair."

Everyone in the class seemed thoroughly confused, but none as much as Padma and Parvati, though they followed her instructions and both removed their House ties and then undid their hair until they were standing side by side and, with the absence of different hairstyles or House colors, looking entirely identical.  

Just as everyone was wondering what was going on, Professor McGonagall raised her wand and pointed it at the twins, saying something that caused them to suddenly go into spins around each other.  Everyone watched wide-eyed as they spun in circles, making all the other students dizzy as well.  Then, just as suddenly as she had performed the spell, McGonagall lifted it, and Parvati and Padma stopped spinning in their tracks, neither of them, surprisingly, looked dizzy in the least.

"Who can tell them apart?"  Professor McGonagall eyed the class curiously, her eyes floating over the faces of the students in front of her until she, at last, rested on Lavender.  "Miss Brown, can you distinguish between the two?"

Lavender nodded and pointed at the twin on the left.  "That's Padma, and that's Parvati."

The professor held up a hand to halt any words from the twins themselves before she looked around for someone else.  "Miss Bones, do you agree or disagree?"

Susan, who Harry had never seen have any sort of real conversation with either of the Patil twins, looked very much on the spot and opened her mouth soundlessly at first before finally saying, "Agree?"

"Is that a question or an answer, Miss Bones?"

Susan turned pink and mumbled a very unconfident, "Answer."

"Do you have any reasons behind your answer?" questioned the teacher curiously.  "Or are you simply following Miss Brown's lead?"

"Uh," Susan didn't look like she knew what to say.  Finally, though, she just shook her head and said, "I don't know."

Without replying, McGonagall turned her attention back to Lavender.  "Are you certain of your answer, Miss Brown?"

Lavender nodded confidently.

"And what are your reasons?"

"Padma's an inch shorter, and she has a freckle under her left eye; Parvati's is under her right eye."

Harry had not known any of this, but he trusted it, simply because he was sure Lavender knew what she was talking about.  Apparently, this was the entire point of Professor McGonagall's lesson.

"How many of you knew this?" she asked, surveying her students.  A couple of the Ravenclaw girls raised their hands, as did Hermione, but for the most part, the class didn't move.  "How many of you _believe _it?"  Everyone raised their hands, and Professor McGonagall turned back to the twins.  "Was Miss Brown right?"

They both nodded, and McGonagall seemed satisfied.  She reached onto her desk for their House ties and handed them over.  "You may return to your seats."

Parvati and Padma sat back down, and Professor McGonagall then addressed the entire class.  "The tiny details that Miss Brown recognized were correct, and those of you who knew for certain that she had her facts straight, knew this.  However, the vast majority of you had no idea which girl was which, and yet you all trusted the testimony of one person."  She raised her eyebrows.  "Do you _always _trust what people tell you?"

Harry thought about all of the things that had been said about him over the years and how much of it had been true, and he realized exactly where this lesson was heading.  Even though he himself had been a victim of vicious lies and rumors, he was still likely to believe what he heard, without ever seeing proof for himself.  It was strange, really.

And then he realized that Professor McGonagall was a brilliant woman.

This lesson had nothing to do with Transfiguration.  It had to do with real life.  

And _that _was what made him realize that even strict, stern professors knew that there were some things more important than books and facts.  Hermione knew it, and so, it appeared, did their Head of House.

Harry decided that this year was definitely going to be interesting.

And he wasn't even through his second class yet...  

*******************************************************

Reviews are appreciated!!!!


	13. Lessons Learned

A/N:  Thanks so much for reading!

Disclaimer:  Nothing here belongs to me...

***************************************************

The first day of classes was looking to be a rather good one.

Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione at the breakfast table as Professor McGonagall strolled up and down the table handing out schedules to the younger students.  The sixth and seventh years already had theirs, of course, and Harry glanced down at his own.  Hermione, apparently seeing him, asked what he had for the day.

"Defense, Transfiguration, break, lunch, break, Care of Magical Creatures."

"Me, too," said Ron unnecessarily since it was already known to all of them that he and Ron were taking the same classes and, therefore, had the same schedule.  He glanced over at Hermione and said, "What about you?"

She read off her schedule in a clear voice.  "Defense, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, lunch, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures."

Harry couldn't believe she was still taking so much, nor, did it seem, could Ron.  _"Why, _Hermione?" he asked in disbelief.  "What's the point of History of Magic?  You're probably going to be the only person in the class!"

"And you'll probably get very bored with all those breaks," she said calmly, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I don't think boredom will be a problem."

"Fine."  She shrugged.  "Have fun then."

They left early from breakfast and were therefore some of the first few to arrive at the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.  Almost immediately, though, the room filled to its capacity.  As they were sixth years now, all of their classes were optional.  Any student from the year, regardless of House, who wanted to take Defense Against the Dark Arts was enrolled in the same class.  It was going to be the same with all of their subjects.  Harry noticed that Defense appeared to be quite popular, as he'd never seen so many students in one class before; it seemed, in fact, that nearly _everyone _had signed up for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it turned out to be a good thing that they'd gotten to class early because before long, every single seat was taken.

The classroom was filled with the normal early school year gossip and snickering as people caught up with each other, but they quieted immediately when the new professor entered the room, her hair now a bright purple and her cheeks a breathless pink.

"Good morning," she said brightly as she made her way to the front of the class, winking quickly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as she passed them.  "How is everyone this morning?"

A few people mumbled, "Fine," but for the most part, everyone seemed to have grown suddenly tired and unenthusiastic, as was the norm with any first class of the morning.

"Not awake, I see," said Tonks, reaching her desk and perching herself onto it, her legs dangling in front of her.  "Perhaps I should take roll to see who we have, yes?"  When no one gave a verbal answer, she sighed slightly and reached for a long piece of parchment, which, presumably, held the names of all the class's students.  "Just let me know if you're here, okay?"

She started reading out the names of the students, and Harry saw people gradually waking up as their names were called.  When she reached Malfoy's name, however, she stopped and looked up for the owner of the voice who called, "Here."

Harry watched as she eyed the Slytherin, apparently shocked to find him Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Harry, too, was surprised, as he had expected Malfoy to drop this class, if any.  However, a smile suddenly took over Tonks's features, and she looked directly at Malfoy.

"Oh, Draco, yes, of course."  Everyone stared at her curiously, and Malfoy gave her a most unflattering appraisal.  She didn't appear to be fazed, though, and she kept on talking, sweetly and casually as though they were old friends.  "We're cousins, did you know?  You and I?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her uncomprehendingly.

"Our mothers are sisters," explained Tonks, in that same sweet tone of hers.  

"What's your mother's name?" Malfoy asked, sitting up straighter and speaking with a tone that was, not sweet like hers, but defiant and hateful.

"Andromeda."

Once again, Malfoy's eyes narrowed, even more so this time, and he stared back at her haughtily.  "My mother only has one sister, and her name isn't Andromeda."

"Oh, yes," Tonks smiled.  "You're referring to dear Auntie Bella.  Tell me, have you heard from her lately?"

She was playing him.  She was purposely patronizing him in front of the entire class, and Harry wasn't even sure whether Malfoy knew it or not.  He was losing just a bit of the calm collectiveness that made it so easy for him to rule the rest of the Slytherins.  He glanced around once, his face coloring slightly, but it was apparent that he wasn't going to completely lose his cool.  

Tonks carried right on, still smiling that sickening sweet smile.  "The last time I saw her, she looked a bit out of sorts.  Of course, it might have just been the situation; after all, I'm sure fourteen years in Azkaban would take the shine out of anyone's eyes."

The mention of Azkaban apparently sealed the deal with Malfoy, and he shoved his seat backwards, stood up, and grabbed his bag.

"Oh, Draco, where are you going?"  Tonks raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not taking this damn class," he spat out furiously.  And with that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked from the room, leaving the class in stunned silence.

It was suddenly very evident to everyone what had just happened.  The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had just upset the ever-so suave Prince of Slytherin and had actually made him lose his cool in front of the entire class.  And the vast majority of that class seemed to have come to a single conclusion.

The new professor was fucking brilliant!

There were the oddities, of course, the few other Slytherins who had opted for the class and a couple of others, who appeared more than taken aback at the outcome of the roll-taking.  Pansy Parkinson, who Harry was sure had _only _joined the class because Malfoy had, was looking about as if she were wondering whether she should stay or follow him.  In the end, she opted to stay because Tonks returned almost immediately to taking attendance; Harry was pretty sure, though, that she would not be attending the next class or any of the ones following that.  He glanced around at the others, though, and saw that most of his classmates were looking suddenly extremely interested in the class and especially in the new professor.

When she finished the roll, Tonks set the parchment aside and scooted backwards on her desk a bit, drawing her knees up to cross them beneath her.  "Well, now that I know who all of _you _are, maybe I should tell you a bit about me."  She paused for a moment and then, obviously not coming up with anything to reveal, said, "Anything you might want to know?"

"What's your first name?"  The question had come from Seamus Finnigan, who had wasted absolutely no time in asking.  His eyes danced merrily as he watched the new teacher.

Tonks eyed him for a moment and then pursed her lips and primly said, "Dora."  

Ron almost broke down into sniggers, but Tonks caught his eye immediately and sent him a look so warning that he immediately shut up.  Harry could just imagine what would happen if she revealed to a room full of sixteen year olds that her name was Nymphadora...

"How old are you?"  This time, Terry Boot had asked the question.  

"I'm twenty-four," she answered, not pausing this time to make up an edited answer, as she had for the last question.

"Are you married?"  Several people snickered as Seamus once again stole the moment to ask a question.

Tonks twisted her lips in a way that made Harry believe she was hiding a grin before she drew in a breath and calmly said, "No, I'm not.  Why?  Is that supposed to be a proposal?"

Seamus turned red as nearly every single student broke into laughter at her response.  Not to be intimidated, though, he simply shrugged and sent her the same sort of inviting look that he normally reserved for Lavender.  Lavender, oddly, was one of the few people who did not seem to find this little exchange humorous.

Tonks finally laughed and rolled her eyes.  "Anybody else?"

And suddenly it seemed as if everybody in the class had a question for the new teacher.  The boys all tried their hand at flirting with her, hoping to get the same response that she'd given Seamus.  They asked everything from, "Do you have a boyfriend?" to "Do you ever give private tutoring?"  Sometimes she blushed and other times she just rolled her eyes, still other times, she actually graced their questions with answers meant to embarrass them.  The girls, too, seemed quite interested in her, though their questions were a bit different.  "How do you get your hair like that?" and "Can you teach us how to do it, too?" were the most frequently asked, and Tonks humored them all with a show of just how easily she could switch from pink hair to gold hair and from a long nose to a short nose.

Pretty soon, the whole class was gabbing away in a way that none of the other teachers had ever dare let them do.  Tonks finally sighed and said loudly, "Okay, okay.  Enough questions.  We should do something productive."

There was a general consensus that this was not a favored idea, and a loud groan echoed through the room as they all looked at her pleadingly.  

"Do we have to?" asked a Hufflepuff named Laura Langerton.  

Tonks, though, put on a pretend sad face and nodded.  "I'm afraid so.  I can't afford to be sacked from two jobs in one month, now can I?"

Oddly enough, this had been one question that had not been asked, and it was Zacharias Smith, who finally asked it.  "Aren't you an Auror?"

"Was," she corrected.  "But then the Ministry got their knickers in a twist and decided I had to go.  And so here I am."  She shrugged her shoulders with the last sentence.

"God bless Cornelius Fudge," said Seamus loudly, his eyes twinkling mischievously.  Immediately, the entire class started laughing again, and Tonks stared at him in disbelief for a moment before finally blushing and laughing.

"Now, if you're finished, Mr. Finnigan-"

"Oh, please, call me Seamus."  He winked at her, and she sputtered for a moment before grinning and rolling her eyes.

"Okay, _Seamus," _she said sarcastically.  "But if you are quite finished, I think we have some reviewing to do."

He shrugged nonchalantly, and everyone straightened up in their seats, apparently no longer finding the prospect of actually doing work so awful.

"Now, what did you learn last year?"

"Nothing," several people answered at once.

Tonks appeared taken aback for a moment before realization took over her features.  "Oh, yes, I forgot.  Dolores Umbridge."

The mere mention of the name had most of the students scowling.

Tonks, though, carried right on as if she didn't notice.  "Okay, then.  What did you learn the year _before _that?"

"We learned about the Unforgivables," said Lindsey Lopez, a Ravenclaw that Harry could hardly remember ever speaking to.  "But I don't know if we were really supposed to."

"Did you find the information useful?"  Lindsey nodded.  "Did you find it interesting?"  Again, a nod.  Tonks nodded her own head.  "Well, then, I don't see why you shouldn't have."

"What are we going to learn this year?" asked Terry Boot.

"Anything you wish to, I suppose," said Tonks with another careless shrug.  "After all, you'll only really absorb things you're interested in, so I suppose I shouldn't even try to teach you the boring things.  What has been the most interesting thing so far?"

"Boggarts," answered Dean Thomas almost immediately.

"You've already done Boggarts?"  Tonks seemed impressed.  "Which year was that?"

"Third."

"You learned about Boggarts in your _third _year?  You must have had a good teacher."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione spoke up for the first time all lesson.  "He was the best."

Tonks grinned at the mention of the name.  "Of course.  Come to think of it, I believe he did mention something about Severus Snape in a frock once."

All of the Gryffindors burst into immediate laughter, though the other Houses seemed a bit confused.  

"You know Professor Lupin?" asked Dean.  

She smiled again and nodded.  "Oh, yes.  I'm quite fond of him."

"Do you fancy him?"  Once again, it was Seamus.

Tonks, like the rest of the class, laughed at his randomness.  "No, actually," she said, though she did turn a bit pink.  "He's a bit older than me."

"Not too much."  Harry, like everyone else (including Tonks), looked at Hermione curiously as she spoke up again, but she didn't seem to notice.  "He's very nice, you know."

"I know, Hermione," said Tonks with a forced smile.  "But, alas, this is not the time for you to be playing matchmaker, now is it?"

Hermione frowned slightly, but she didn't say anything else.  

"Now, if we may _please _leave the subject of my love-life alone for a few minutes, I would like to hear what else you're interested in."

The rest of the class went on, and before long, the bell signaling the end of class was chiming.  Several people groaned, though, and it was obvious that no one wanted to leave the classroom for another lesson.

"Oh, I'll have you again on Wednesday," said Tonks brightly before she grinned and added, "No homework."

As the class finally filed, the corridor was filled with excited chatter.

"She's so cool!" said Padma Patil as she linked arms with one of her Ravenclaw friends, Rachel Banks.

"Forget cool," said Michael Corner to Terry Boot.  "She's hot!"

"Oh, honestly," said Hermione with a slight roll of her eyes.  "But she is quite good, isn't she?"

"She's awesome," agreed Ron.  

Harry nodded, too.  "Yeah, she's great."  And he wasn't lying, either; Tonks seemed to be a natural with the students.

The next class they had was Transfiguration.  This class was slightly smaller than Defense had been, though they were once again joined by Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins who had apparently thought Defense Against the Dark Arts to be below them.  

Of course, Professor McGonagall was already present when they entered the classroom, so there was no hope of a late start with her.  She looked up when so many of her students entered laughing and apparently in very nice moods.

"Good lesson?" she asked, looking up from the stack of parchment on her desk.

"It was wicked!" said Seamus, sliding into a seat between Harry and Dean.  "Professor Tonks is so cool!"

"How very enthusiastic, Mr. Finnigan," said McGonagall, sounding completely unenthused herself.  "Now, if you'll all please quiet down, we can get started with the lesson."

Everyone present knew well enough not to delay when she gave instructions, so they went silent immediately.  She stood up and gathered the parchment.  "Miss Abbott, please pass these out."

Hannah got up and started rounding the class with the handouts while Professor McGonagall continued talking.

"This is your course syllabus.  As this is a N.E.W.T. level class, your work expectancy is much higher, and you'll need to follow this in order to keep up.  The pace is going to be much quicker than anything you've done in the past, and the level of difficulty is going to be much higher."

There was a quiet grumble at this news, though Hermione seemed strangely excited as she looked over her copy of the syllabus.  Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes.  

"If you are not prepared to meet this challenge," she continued, "then I would suggest that you speak to your Head of House immediately and arrange a schedule change.  I will not tolerate anything below your personal best, and if you are not willing to give me this, then I would like to direct you to the door."  At this, she held a hand in the direction of the exit.

No one moved.

She nodded after a pause and walked back to the front of the classroom.  "I assume that all of you have purchased copies of _Advanced Transfiguration.  _Please open to page six."  The familiar noise of people rummaging through their bags was heard, and pretty soon, a copy of the text was in front of each student.  "Turn to the first chapter, and Miss Granger, if you will, please give us a summary of McKlellan's theory on human transfiguration."

It surprised no one that Hermione answered immediately and confidently, giving some elaborate explanation that meant absolutely nothing to Harry.  When she was finished, Professor McGonagall, instead of commenting, turned her attention to another student.

"Mr. Malfoy, did you read the lesson?"  Malfoy nodded.  "Do you concur or disagree with Miss Granger's explanation?"

Malfoy scowled slightly and shot a look of disgust in Hermione's direction before mumbling, "Concur."

"Miss Parkinson, do you concur or disagree?"

Pansy raised her eyebrows slightly and then said, "Concur."

"Mr. Goldstein, concur of disagree?"

"Concur."

"Miss Patil?"

Padma glanced up and quietly said, "Concur."

Continuing through the class, McGonagall passed Ron's desk.  "Weasley, concur of disagree?"

"Concur."

"Mr. Macmillan?"

"Concur."

"And Miss Abbott, concur or disagree?"  

"Concur."

Professor McGonagall walked back to the front of her classroom and faced the students.  "Okay, so all eight of your class Prefects have agreed.  Is there anyone here who would disagree with the theory that Miss Granger presented?"

No one said anything.

"Alright," she nodded and once again started questioning the students.  "Miss Parkinson, did you concur simply because Mr. Malfoy did?"  Everyone looked around at Pansy, who had turned slightly pink.

"No, ma'am," she said uneasily.

"Mr. Weasley, did you agree only because you trust Miss Granger's intelligence?"  Ron looked slightly confused, but the teacher went right on with her questions.  "Miss Abbott, did you agree so that you wouldn't appear any different from the others who had already concurred?"  Hannah bit her lip and looked as if she didn't know whether to answer or not.  "How many of you," said Professor McGonagall to the class, "decided that Miss Granger had to be correct because she had a reputation for being intelligent?"

No one said anything, and Harry could tell that Hermione was getting embarrassed.

"No one will answer me," she continued coolly, "because many of you know that you did exactly that.  While Miss Granger was right with her explanation, not all of you would have given the answer she did if I had asked you the same question.  My point in this, though, is not to teach you anything about McKlellan's theory, as we will have plenty of time for that later.  My point is to get you to think for yourselves."

She leaned against her podium and studied them over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses.  "You are no longer young children.  Many of you will turn seventeen this year, and when you return next year, most of you will be legally able to use magic outside of school.  This is not something to deal with lightly; being of legal age is a great responsibility, and if you are not able to think and make decisions for yourself, you could find yourself in many unfavorable positions and even in danger.  You will find yourselves facing things that give off one appearance and have extremely different properties.  You cannot always trust what you see."  Here, she picked up her wand and scanned the room.  "Miss Patil, Miss Patil, please come up here."

Padma and Parvati glanced nervously at each other, but both rose from their seats and joined the teacher at the front of the classroom.

"Please remove your ties and take down your hair."

Everyone in the class seemed thoroughly confused, but none as much as Padma and Parvati, though they followed her instructions and both removed their House ties and then undid their hair until they were standing side by side and, with the absence of different hairstyles or House colors, looking entirely identical.  

Just as everyone was wondering what was going on, Professor McGonagall raised her wand and pointed it at the twins, saying something that caused them to suddenly go into spins around each other.  Everyone watched wide-eyed as they spun in circles, making all the other students dizzy as well.  Then, just as suddenly as she had performed the spell, McGonagall lifted it, and Parvati and Padma stopped spinning in their tracks, neither of them, surprisingly, looked dizzy in the least.

"Who can tell them apart?"  Professor McGonagall eyed the class curiously, her eyes floating over the faces of the students in front of her until she, at last, rested on Lavender.  "Miss Brown, can you distinguish between the two?"

Lavender nodded and pointed at the twin on the left.  "That's Padma, and that's Parvati."

The professor held up a hand to halt any words from the twins themselves before she looked around for someone else.  "Miss Bones, do you agree or disagree?"

Susan, who Harry had never seen have any sort of real conversation with either of the Patil twins, looked very much on the spot and opened her mouth soundlessly at first before finally saying, "Agree?"

"Is that a question or an answer, Miss Bones?"

Susan turned pink and mumbled a very unconfident, "Answer."

"Do you have any reasons behind your answer?" questioned the teacher curiously.  "Or are you simply following Miss Brown's lead?"

"Uh," Susan didn't look like she knew what to say.  Finally, though, she just shook her head and said, "I don't know."

Without replying, McGonagall turned her attention back to Lavender.  "Are you certain of your answer, Miss Brown?"

Lavender nodded confidently.

"And what are your reasons?"

"Padma's an inch shorter, and she has a freckle under her left eye; Parvati's is under her right eye."

Harry had not known any of this, but he trusted it, simply because he was sure Lavender knew what she was talking about.  Apparently, this was the entire point of Professor McGonagall's lesson.

"How many of you knew this?" she asked, surveying her students.  A couple of the Ravenclaw girls raised their hands, as did Hermione, but for the most part, the class didn't move.  "How many of you _believe _it?"  Everyone raised their hands, and Professor McGonagall turned back to the twins.  "Was Miss Brown right?"

They both nodded, and McGonagall seemed satisfied.  She reached onto her desk for their House ties and handed them over.  "You may return to your seats."

Parvati and Padma sat back down, and Professor McGonagall then addressed the entire class.  "The tiny details that Miss Brown recognized were correct, and those of you who knew for certain that she had her facts straight, knew this.  However, the vast majority of you had no idea which girl was which, and yet you all trusted the testimony of one person."  She raised her eyebrows.  "Do you _always _trust what people tell you?"

Harry thought about all of the things that had been said about him over the years and how much of it had been true, and he realized exactly where this lesson was heading.  Even though he himself had been a victim of vicious lies and rumors, he was still likely to believe what he heard, without ever seeing proof for himself.  It was strange, really.

And then he realized that Professor McGonagall was a brilliant woman.

This lesson had nothing to do with Transfiguration.  It had to do with real life.  

And _that _was what made him realize that even strict, stern professors knew that there were some things more important than books and facts.  Hermione knew it, and so, it appeared, did their Head of House.

Harry decided that this year was definitely going to be interesting.

And he wasn't even through his second class yet...  

*******************************************************

Reviews are appreciated!!!!


	14. The DA and Other Duties

A/N:  I know that I posted the last chapter twice, but in order to make this one show up as updated, I had to just leave it alone.  My computer is having issues, and I don't know what the deal is...

  
Anyway, thanks for all the reviews!  Hope you enjoy this part!

  
Disclaimer:  If I owned them, I'd be rich.  And I'm not.  Ergo, I don't.

*********************************************

Dinner on Tuesday evening was not very peaceful.

The first D.A. meeting was scheduled for later that night, and it seemed as if every single member of the Defense club had come up to the Gryffindor table to clear the time.  Harry wasn't sure if any of the teachers would object to them holding the meetings, but he hadn't exactly asked permission.  All of the Educational Decrees from the year before had been lifted, but there was always the chance that someone like Snape would find the club unacceptable and a good reason to dock points from all the participating Houses, a group that included every House besides his own Slytherin.  It was because of this that he was growing increasingly anxious as person after person approached him.

"Don't worry," Hermione said when she noticed that he was getting antsy.  "I talked to Tonks, and she's cool with it."

"You talked to Tonks about the D.A.?"  Harry was surpised.

"Yes," she nodded.  "And she was perfectly fine and said she'd cover for us and say she was heading it up in case any of the other professors have a problem with it."

"Is she coming to the meeting?"

"She said she might come to some of them, but she's busy tonight."

Harry glanced up to the staff table where Tonks was laughing at something that Professor Flitwick was saying.  Hermione followed his gaze and then, out of nowhere, said, "Don't you think she should date Professor Lupin?"

Harry turned his attention back to his friend and raised his eyebrows.  She really was being very random lately, and he wondered what had gotten into her.  "Why do you think that?"

She shrugged.  "Well, they get along well.  And they're both very intelligent.  And they're both single..."

"And he's old enough to be her father."

"Oh, he is not," said Hermione, frowning.  "He's, what," she counted in her head, "He's only fourteen years older than her."

"That's a lot," said Ron speaking up from Hermione's other side.  "And by the way, did you know that Malfoy was her cousin?"

Harry nodded.  "Yeah, Sirius told me."  The mention of Sirius sent a brief moment of awkward silence over the group before Harry hurried to brush over it.  "But her mum doesn't get claimed by the family anymore because she married a Muggle."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is their other sister, then," said Hermione, looking at Harry for confirmation.

At the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's name, Harry felt a hatred like no other flow through him quickly, but he forced a nod.  "Yeah.  They're all Sirius's cousins."

"So Sirius and Malfoy were cousins, too?"  Ron's eyes widened slightly.

  
Harry, who had never really thought about it, was suddenly struck with the truth to the statement.  "Yeah, I guess.  Second cousins anyway."  Then another, more startling thought occurred to him.  "_And _Sirius is related to your parents, so that means _you've _got to be related to Malfoy, too..."

"No fucking way!"  Ron looked disgusted, and Hermione shot him an annoyed look for the language.

"Oh, I'm sure you're all related some way or another," she said briskly.  "You and Harry are probably related somehow, too."

Harry hadn't thought of that, either, but he remembered something else his godfather had told him.  "Yeah, Sirius said all of the pureblood families are interrelated."

"Well, I am _not _related to Malfoy," Ron said firmly, sticking his fork through a cherry tomato and glaring at it.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Yes, you probably are."  She smirked smugly then and said, "But at least I know I'm not."

Ron elbowed her.  "It's not nice to gloat."

She shrugged and said, "I guess it depends on what you're gloating over, doesn't it?"

"You gloat over everything," he said pointedly.

"I do not."  Hermione grinned.  "And if I do, it's only because I have good reason."

They continued to playfully bicker, and Harry glanced at his watch.  If they didn't leave soon, they weren't even going to get to the Room of Requirement early to make sure everything was set up properly.  He told them this, and they quit their mini-argument to join him.

****************************************

Harry was surprised to see that all of the D.A. members had returned for the second year, minus Fred, George, Angelina, Katie, Alicia and Lee, who had all graduated, and, of course, Marietta Edgecombe, who was no longer welcome, though _SNEAK _had finally disappeared from her face.  He wasn't sure if he expected Cho to come or not, but she strolled in with Michael Corner and some of his sixth year friends, not meeting Harry's eye at all as she joined them in some seats on the left side of the room.  The others filed in, as well, all of them taking seats in the room, which still looked exactly as it had the last time they'd had a meeting, minus the list of names pinned to the wall, which had been confiscated the year before.

When everyone had arrived, Harry let Hermione take over, as she was much better at this sort of thing than he was.  She talked about several things, including the fact that Tonks was going to cover for them if there were any problems.  She then went on to say that she thought they should recruit new members as well because, as she pointed out, anyone who wanted to learn extra Defense Against the Dark Arts should have the opportunity.  Everyone agreed, and they all decided they would ask around to other friends and younger students who might not have been involved the year before for one reason or another.  When she finally let Harry talk, there was nothing much left to say except that he thought they ought to start with something simple like they did the year before.  He suggested a disarming warm-up and was met with no complaints, not even from Zacharias Smith, who was watching him rather ruefully.

Everyone paired up, and Harry watched as Ron and Hermione chose each other without a second glance to him.  The same thing had happened the year before, but he somehow noticed it more this year.  He glanced around for Neville, who he was sure would be partnerless but found that he had actually paired himself up with Luna Lovegood and was currently ducking as she accidentally sent her own wand flying toward him instead of summoning his toward her.  It took him a moment to find the odd person out, and he was surprised to find that the only person left without a partner was Ginny Weasley.

She walked over to him and said, "Looks like you're stuck with me."

"What about Dean?"

She sighed slightly and shook her head.  "Apparently Seamus Finnigan is much more attractive than I am."  Harry laughed at her comment as he spotted Dean and Seamus across the room.   "I see that you got rejected, too," she said pointedly as she watched Ron and Hermione, who were now arguing over something at the far side of the room; it was impossible to hear what they were saying, but their argument suddenly turned quite funny, as they both burst out laughing.

Harry looked away from them and back at Ginny.  "Are you ever going to fill me in?"

"Is this really the time?"

"Do you know how to disarm?"  She nodded.  "Then this is the time."  He crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly.

  
Ginny studied her brother and Hermione for another moment before taking Harry by the arm and dragging him a bit away from the main crowd and out of harm's way as wands flew in every direction.

"Well," she said when they reached their destination, which happened to be as far away as possible from the pair in question, "Hermione told me that she finally gave up on waiting.  You know, after they were kidnapped or whatever."

"Did you already know she liked him?"

"Of course," Ginny looked slightly offended.  "It was only the most obvious thing in the world."

Harry hadn't really ever noticed it to be _that _obvious, at least not from Hermione's point.  He didn't say anything, though, and Ginny went right on.

"And she snuck up to his room the first night he was home from the hospital, and then she just kissed him real quick and disappeared.  Then the next day, Ron apparently got the picture, and they snogged for a good half-hour in the mud."

"Yeah, he mentioned the mud," Harry said absently.  "But I still don't get why it just happened out of nowhere."

Ginny shrugged.  "Who knows?  They're both quite strange."

"Well, are they serious or what?"

Ginny looked at him as if she felt sorry for him.  "Do you think _Hermione _would just go around making out with boys if she wasn't serious about it?"  She then apparently got a thought and said, "Haven't you asked Ron about it?"

Harry shook his head.  "No, not really.  He told me a little in a letter right after it happened, but I haven't really asked for details.  Don't really want them, actually; that's why I asked you."

Instead of catching whatever Ginny was saying next, he found his mind conjuring up the same image it had when Dean had asked him the same question.  It was the image of one of his best friends and his other best friend's little sister doing things that he was certain they definitely would _not _do.  Or at least he was certain that Hermione wouldn't, but Dean _had _hinted that Ginny might be persuaded...

"Are you listening to me?"  Ginny's voice jerked him back to reality, and he looked at her, feeling his cheeks heat up as he caught the eye of the very person he'd just been imagining in a rather questionable situation.  

"Wha-"  He swallowed.  "Yeah, sure.  But... maybe we ought to practice now."

Ginny stared at him weirdly for a moment before finally shrugging and saying, "Well, you better be careful because you might not know this, but I can probably kick your arse."

Harry snorted, and she glared at him.    
  
"Just wait," she warned.  "All that Boy Who Lived crap doesn't impress me."

Harry was amused thoroughly by her; she had certainly changed a lot since the first time he'd met her.  In more ways than one, he noticed, as she walked a few paces away from him, her hips swinging slightly.  Before he even had a second to appreciate it, though, she had whipped around and shouted, _"Expelliarmus!"_ which sent his wand flying straight into her outstretched hand.

He gaped at her, and she sent him a rather smug smirk before shrugging her shoulders and saying, "See?  I told you I could kick your arse."  She tossed his wand back to him, and he caught it with reflexes born of a natural Seeker.  Before he got a grasp, though, she had retrieved it once again.

"You're cheating!" he accused, though he was grinning.  "You're not even giving me a chance!"

"Perhaps _I _should be the one teaching," she said confidently.  "I know I don't have the scar of anything, but, hey!"  She shrugged, and they both broke into laughter.  Ginny tossed him his wand and looked at him squarely.  "Okay, here's your chance."

_"Expelliarmus!"  _He raised his wand and aimed it at her, but she ducked easily, and his spell hit Ernie Macmillan right in the back of the head, causing the Hufflepuff to grab at the place where his hair had singed slightly for a brief second and whip around to see who the offender was.  Harry, his eyes widening the moment it happened, stared very pointedly at Ginny as she struggled against laughter, and neither of them looked at Ernie.

When Ernie gave up on finding out which of his fellow students had hit him with a spell and turned back to his own partner, Hannah Abbott, Ginny broke into nearly convulsions of giggles.  Harry, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention, quickly walked the few steps to her and grabbed her forearm, dragging her once again away from the crowd and to the place by the door.  She was giggling mercilessly now, one of her hands clasped tightly to her mouth and her entire body shaking.  

"Maybe we shouldn't practice anymore just yet," he said warily, and Ginny finally broke into full out laughter.  

"Maybe not," she agreed through hiccups.  "I can't believe he didn't know who did it!"

"Shh!"  Harry looked over her head at Ernie and Hannah, who were now right back to disarming each other.  "There's a bald spot on the back of his head..."

Ginny turned around so quickly that Harry couldn't stop her before she doubled over with giggles again.  "He doesn't even know!"

"Shh!"  Harry said again.  "Just don't look over there."

Ginny nodded, though she was still having great difficulty with keeping her cool.  After she calmed down just a bit, though, she changed the subject.  "So, when are you having Quidditch tryouts?"

Professor McGonagall had held him after class the day before and told him that he needed to have a team secured by the end of the following week.  He shrugged, though, having no definite answer and said, "Probably this weekend."

"Any idea how many people are trying out?"

He shook his head.  "Not a clue.  All we need are Chasers, though."

"Yeah, I know." 

"Do you still want to play?"  He knew that he had sort of ripped the position of Seeker away from her without any sort of warning.  She'd been rather good, though, and she had mentioned wanting to be a Chaser.

She nodded.  "Yeah, I think so."

"You don't have to try out."  He shrugged.  "You were already on the team, and if you want, you can just switch positions."

"I don't have to try out?"  She raised her eyebrows at him.  "Are you sure?  Because what if someone's better than me?"

He shrugged.  "You don't have to try out," he repeated.  "If you want to be a Chaser, I mean."

She nodded, a grin now on her face.  "Yeah, sure.  That's what I wanted to play anyway."

"Good because I'm not giving up Seeker again."  He smiled at her, and she rolled her eyes.

*******************************************************

Later into the night after their first D.A. meeting, Hermione found herself standing alone in the Common Room and waiting rather impatiently for a very late Ron.  He was supposed to have been down ten minutes ago, and she still hadn't seen any sign of him.  Part of her wondered if he'd fallen asleep and completely forgotten that it was their turn to do the late-night patrol of the corridors.  As sixth year Prefects, they were given even more responsibilities, and one of these included walking the hallways for two hours after curfew every fifth night.  It was a duty, which was split evenly with the other three houses and the Head Girl; this was Gryffindor's first night, though, and Hermione somehow didn't think it would look too great if one of the Prefects had fallen asleep and skived off of his duties.

Just as she was getting anxious, though, she heard footsteps coming down from the boys' side of the dormitory, and she looked up just as Ron stumbled into the Common Room, tugging a trainer on as he rushed.

"You're late," she said simply as she watched him finally give up on the half-run/half-hop that he was doing in order to get his shoe on; he finally stopped and bent down to fix it and tie it up properly.

"I know, I know," he said breathlessly when he straightened up.  "I forgot."  
  


She frowned.  "Ron, I just _reminded _you not an hour and a half ago."

He shrugged, looking slightly irritated.  "I _know, _Hermione.  I just forgot, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "You can't just forget.  These are our responsibilities."

"I get it!"  He looked at her, his eyebrows constricting slightly.  "I'm sorry, okay?  I'm not _that _late."

She gave up on lecturing him because she had enough experience to know that it did no good whatsoever.  Instead, she just turned and headed toward the Portrait Hole.  He followed her through it and down the stairs leading away from Gryffindor Tower.  

"So what are we supposed to be doing anyway?" he asked, breaking the silence as they turned up the first floor corridor and started making their way through the castle.

"Just making sure that no one's out of place or breaking curfew."

"Oh, that should be fascinating," he said sarcastically.  "We get to walk around for two hours and do absolutely nothing."

Hermione kept walking and somehow managed not to roll her eyes.  She knew that if they kept talking, they would end up arguing, so she just walked on in silence for several more minutes, turning up one hallway and down another.  She was just beginning to marvel at how huge the castle really was when she felt Ron slip his hand into her own without warning.

She looked down first at their intertwined fingers and then up at him.  It was the first bit of affection that he'd shown her since they'd been back at school; other than the odd shy smile he'd send her way from time to time, she couldn't see that he was treating her any differently than he had all their other years.  There was no doubt in her mind that he was suffering enough teasing at the hands of his dorm-mates because she certainly was.  She'd never taken Parvati and Lavender to be her best friends by any means, but it seemed that ever since they'd found out that she had a boyfriend, they wanted to be the closest of mates and find out as many details as possible.  Unfortunately for them, there weren't too many details, as there had been absolutely nothing happening between herself and Ron since the moment they boarded the Hogwarts Express.  She didn't know how she felt about showing off the fact that she was dating someone by public displays of affection, but she did know that she was missing Ron and the hours upon hours of private time that they had had in their last few weeks at the Burrow.  Then Harry had shown up, but even after that, they'd still managed to snag plenty of time together.  At school, though, things were a bit more difficult.

She didn't say anything about the handholding, and they walked along in continued silence, still holding hands.  They passed the stairs that led down to the Slytherin Common Room and made their way around the castle until they'd also passed the entrances to the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Common Rooms as well.  But even after all of that, Hermione glanced at her watch and saw that they still had a full hour before they were allowed to retire for the evening.  

There were other places that they were supposed to check, too, and Hermione checked them off in her head as they passed them.  The entrance to the kitchens, the third and fourth floor corridors that were littered with now empty classrooms, the foyer in front of the Great Hall, and, of course, the Astronomy Tower- the number one favorite spot for young couples seeking a private snogging session.

"Are you still taking this?" Ron asked after they'd climbed the two-hundred and thirty-six stairs to reach the circular room at the top.

Hermione nodded and lit the tip of her wand so that she could see better in the moonlit room.  There was no one up there, either.  They hadn't caught a single student out of bed in the entire time they'd been patrolling, something that surprised Hermione.  

"Wow, this is so not fun," Ron said blandly as he dropped her hand and unexpectedly sat down on the stone floor.  "I'm already sick of it, and we still have forty-five minutes."

Hermione looked at him and sighed before turning away and taking an opportunity to look out of the Tower's windows, a view which never failed to amaze her.  A bright light was falling slightly, and she realized all at once what it was.  "Look, a falling star!"

Ron pushed himself up and joined her at the windows, and they both watched as the light streaked slowly across the sky.  Hermione had been fascinated by stars when she was younger, and now that she knew a good deal about them, she liked them even more.  Something her mother had told her when she was very young entered her mind, and she tore her gaze away from the star and looked at Ron.  "Do you believe in wishes?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "Wishes?"

"Yes.  My mum says that if you make a wish on a falling star, it comes true."

He shrugged and looked back at the sky.  "Maybe.  I don't know."

Hermione once again looked to the star and silently made a wish, trusting her faith in things she had no control over.  She wished for happiness for them all, for her and Ron and especially for Harry.  He could use a good wish about now, and though she knew it was probably silly of her, deep down inside of her, she believed that it might just work.  At least she hoped it would.

"Did you wish?"  She could tell that Ron was watching her curiously, and she felt her cheeks heat up slightly.  She nodded and kept her head turned away from him.  "What'd you wish for?"

  
"I can't tell," she said, finally meeting his gaze.  "It won't come true."

"Did your mum tell you that, too?"  He looked slightly amused, and she felt a bit embarrassed but admitted to it anyway.

  
"Yeah," she said quietly.  "Didn't your mum ever tell you things like that?"

He shrugged.  "She might have.  I don't really remember.  Maybe she used to tell the others, but she was probably worn out on stories like that by the time I came around.  And anyway, the twins probably would have spoiled it anyway, so she probably just didn't even bother."

  
"Spoiled it?"

Ron nodded.  "Yeah, you know, like they told me and Ginny that Santa Claus was fake when we were just like four and five or something."

Hermione smiled sympathetically.  

Ron, though, just shrugged.  "Oh, well.  They got in trouble for it, so it was worth having it ruined."

Hermione giggled and was caught off-guard when Ron suddenly kissed her.  He drew back slowly and looked at her through barely lowered eyelashes.    
  
"Sorry," he mumbled quietly.  "I've just been waiting to do that for a few days."

She smiled at him shyly and nodded.  "Yeah, me, too."

He kissed her again, this time a little more possessively.  Hermione felt as if he were trying to get his grip back on kissing her, as it had been several days since they'd had any sort of practice.  Hoping to edge him along a bit, she sat down on one of the stone ledges beneath the windows and dragged him with her.

She quickly forgot everything about wishes and school and Prefects' duties and everything else.  Except for Ron.

And when their patrolling time was finally over and it was time for them to return to Gryffindor, Hermione knew exactly why the Astronomy Tower was so favored.  

And that night, as she climbed into bed with thoughts of Ron's lips in her mind, she made a mental note to skip half of the things on the patrol list next time and head to that Tower a bit earlier.

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	15. Mudbloods Have to Stick Together

A/N:  Thanks for the reviews!

  
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Potions had never been Harry's favorite subject.

In fact, if it were up to him, he'd've dropped the class as soon as the word 'optional' came into play.  However, Potions was a required N.E.W.T. for anyone wishing to apply to the Auror Academy, and even if he changed his mind later on, it was still one of the most needed subjects for any career.  Actually, he wasn't too sure if he would dislike Potions even nearly as much if it weren't for the fact that Severus Snape taught the class.

Snape was absolutely, without a doubt, the worst possible teacher at Hogwarts, considering the fact that he had made more students cry than all of the other professors combined.  It also didn't help matters that Harry was quite possibly his very _least _favorite student.

Actually, quite possibly was putting it lightly.  Harry actually _was_ his least favorite student- a notable fact that didn't make things easy for anyone with whom Harry associated.

"Take your seats quickly and stop dawdling."  Snape spoke sharply from his place at the front of his dungeon classroom as his sixth year class filed in.    
  


Harry took a seat beside Ron and noticed right away that this was, by far, the smallest class he'd been in so far this year.  It wasn't surprisingly, really, since Snape wouldn't take anyone who hadn't made an O in their Potions O.W.L., a feat which Harry still couldn't quite believe he'd accomplished.  The most represented House was Ravenclaw, which really wasn't surprising, as the majority of the 'smart kids' resided there.  There weren't that many Hufflepuffs, save Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith, and even Slytherin, Snape's very own House, was largely underrepresented, the only attendees being Blaise Zabini, a girl who Harry knew had always been one of the most talented students at Potions, Carter Donaldson, a boy Harry had never actually spoken with, and, unfortunately, Draco Malfoy.  As far as Gryffindor went, besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the only other Housemate of theirs to be present was Lavender Brown, who, Harry observed, was sticking to Hermione's side like a lost puppy, no doubt miserable without Parvati.  

Snape was staring from one student to the next, observing the class through narrowed eyes.  When his eyes reached the Gryffindors, he sneered and appeared to be biting his tongue, no doubt to keep from asking how they'd managed to end up in the advanced class.  

"Get your cauldrons ready," he said briskly.  "We are wasting no time this year with trivial classroom instructions.  You are old enough and _should," _here, he looked directly at the Gryffindors, "be mature enough to know what is expected of you at this level.  If you feel that you are misinformed or do _not _know what is expected of you, then I assure you that a schedule change would be of great benefit."

Harry glanced at Ron and noticed that he seemed to be seriously considering the possibility.  Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't seriously considering the same thing.  Dropping Potions didn't sound like too horrible of an idea at all until Harry realized he would probably accomplish nothing but screwing himself over in the future.

"We are going to be working on the beginnings of Veritaserum today, a potion which makes it impossible the drinker to tell any falsities.  As this is a very difficult potion and requires strict and precise attention, you will be working on it with a partner.  Now pair up quickly."  Snape's instructions left no room for any questions or comments.

"Be my partner!  Please!"  Harry looked to his left and saw that Lavender had grabbed Hermione's arm and was literally begging her.  Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly but nodded slowly.

"Okay..."

Harry looked over at Ron and saw his own feelings reflected there.  Having Hermione as a partner was a major advantage, and one of her roommates had beaten them both to her.  

"Definitely not fair," Ron muttered, looking over his shoulder to where Lavender and Hermione were now hunched over a single book, apparently looking to see what ingredients they would need.  

"If we mess this up, we're screwed," Harry observed ruefully as he reached beside his chair for his own Potions book.  "What page is it?"

Ron glanced over at the book the girls were sharing and answered, "Fourteen."

Harry flipped to page fourteen and found a list of ingredients under the title _Veritaserum, Truth Potion.  _"He's going to make us test this."  Harry frowned at the mere thought of having to take a Truth Potion, especially when Snape was the one testing it.  That same professor had once threatened him with Veritaserum, and the idea hadn't set any better with him then than it was now.

"I am sure that your lives are simply filled to the brim with excitement and conversation topics, what with all the big-headed things you insist on partaking in," Snape stopped in front of their desk and glared down at Harry and Ron, "but as this is _my _classroom, I require silence."

Harry, not trusting himself to actually meet Snape's eye, stared very hard at his book; from the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione glancing over her shoulder at them with a somewhat disapproving look and caught the quiet snicker from the other side of the room where Malfoy had paired himself up with Blaise, leaving their fellow Slytherin, Carter Donaldson, to seek out the Ravenclaws for a partner.  Snape moved on, and Harry took that opportunity to shoot Malfoy a narrowed-eyed glare, which the Slytherin returned at once.

So far, Harry had managed to not even _speak _to Malfoy.  Surprisingly, Malfoy hadn't sought him out to torment him, either; perhaps he knew he didn't have ammunition that would hold up against the fact that Harry had landed his father in jail not three months ago.  

Deciding that he wasn't even going to concern himself with something as pointless as Draco Malfoy right now, Harry turned his attention back to the Potions book.  Ron glanced at him and whispered that he would go and get the supplies from the cabinet where several other students had lined up.  Ron slipped out of his seat at the same time Hermione did, and they walked to the back of the room, careful not to speak to each other for fear of lost House points.  Harry glanced across the empty seats at Lavender, who honestly looked as though Potions was the last place she wanted to be.  She was twirling a strand of her long blonde hair between her fingers and staring at it as if she had never seen it before and certainly didn't spend hours upon hours brushing it.  She apparently sensed his stare and looked up to offer him a lazy half-smile.  

If Lavender Brown could get bored with her own hair, this day was definitely going to be a long one.

Ron and Hermione returned a couple of minutes later, their arms loaded with the needed ingredients.  The class worked in silence for what had to be the longest hour ever recorded in history until Snape once again spoke, his voice slicing through the quiet like a knife.

"Clean up your ingredients and store your cauldrons in this cabinet," he pointed to a large closet behind him, which Harry knew had been charmed to keep the Potions at exactly the right temperature.  "Homework is fifteen inches on the security measures taken by the Ministry to monitor the illegal uses of Veritaserum.  Dismissed."

  
Snape turned around and disappeared into his adjoining office amidst much protest from his pupils.  As they all finished putting away their things and storing their potions, Ron grumbled something about the amount of homework.  

"_Fifteen inches?!  _We won't have time to do anything else!"

"What else could you possibly have to do, Weasley?  Read the Help Wanted section of the _Prophet _to help your daddy find a job?"  Malfoy had followed them out the dungeon door and into the stair-lined corridors.

Harry saw Ron start to make what he was sure would be an extremely crude comment, but Hermione grabbed his elbow and shook her head, obviously relaying some silent message that Ron surprisingly seemed to interpret and obeyed.

"Don't tell me you let _her _tell you what to do!"  Malfoy laughed out loud as he continued to talk to the back of their heads.  "I hope you at least get something for letting her boss you, or else that's really pitiful."

"You know what, Malfoy?"  Hermione dropped Ron's elbow and stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around to look the Slytherin straight in the eye.  Harry, Ron, and Lavender, who was still sticking tightly to them, all stopped as well, turning around to see what Hermione was going to say.  "Before you start talking about other people, maybe you should reconsider what your _own _home life is like at the moment."

"What's that supposed to mean?"  Malfoy stared right back at her, neither of them even blinking.

"It means that unless you want other people talking about _your _family's problems, you shouldn't talk about theirs."

It was obvious exactly what she was referring to, but Malfoy seemed determined not to be intimidated.  He was always a lot braver in the dungeons, apparently thinking that he could get away with anything when the only teacher around was Snape.  Unfortunately, it was probably true.  "I'll talk about anything I want to talk about, and that includes you and your little boyfriends, _Granger.  _And if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut because you never know what 'problems' might be in store for _your _family."

"You don't scare me, Malfoy," she said, not batting an eyelash, though Ron looked ready to commit murder and Harry felt ready to join him.  "I'm not afraid of you, just so you know."

"Oh, yeah?"  Malfoy raised an impossibly naturally groomed eyebrow and answered calmly.  "Maybe that's something _you _should reconsider."

It was at this moment that Blaise Zabini said, "Draco, let's go.  It's hot down here."  She sent a rather unflattering look at the Gryffindors, and Harry felt an inner-shudder at her glance.  Had she been a Muggle, she might have been one of the schoolyard outcasts with her tight curls of black and heavy eyelashes outlined with a thick layer of black eyeliner, her lipstick the color of blood standing out prominently against her pale, smooth skin.  As she was, though, she was strangely attractive and looked as if she hadn't even been _born _innocent.  She had dark eyes that obviously had the power of seduction down to an art.  

She apparently had some sort of hold over Malfoy because he followed her up the dungeon steps, turning only once to glare over his shoulder at the classmates he'd left below.  

"He's such a jerk," said Lavender, breaking the silence that the pair of Slytherins had left over them.  

Hermione shrugged one shoulder, though her eyes gave away the fact that she wasn't as okay with his comments as she liked to pretend.  "He'll get what's coming to him eventually."

Harry hoped she was right.

****************************************************************************

Mina Allycott had the longest wind of anyone in the entire world.

Ron came to this conclusion as he glanced at his watch and saw that the Head Girl had now been talking for ninety-eight minutes straight without so much as a break.  Not only was she talking and talking and talking, but she wasn't even saying anything interesting!  She was just babbling on about the upcoming patrol scheduling change, and Ron was ready to claw his eyeballs out.  He saw that he wasn't alone, either, as the rest of the sixth year Prefects seemed to be rather disinterested, too.  Even Hermione was glancing every few minutes at her watch, apparently with the hope that something more than three minutes would have passed.  Ron, while he was bored with her speech, was upset about the long meeting for other reasons as well.  For one, he hadn't even started any of his homework, but the main reason was that he was supposed to meet the rest of the Quidditch team for a meeting about the coming weekend's tryouts.  Not that it was going to be life or death if he was late because Harry was captain and he could get all the information from him, but it was still extremely annoying not to have the option to be prompt.

Finally, after another thirteen minutes of talking, Mina let them go.  Ron didn't waste any time staying around to chat and quickly told Hermione that he would see her after the Quidditch meeting before he dashed out the door and down the corridor.  As he passed the first set of stairs, though, he heard a loud commotion and knew that something major was happening in the next hall.  He thought about ignoring it since there were several other Prefects who would be passing by this very place in just a few moments.  But when he heard someone scream in what sounded like pain, he hurried in the direction of the commotion.

There was a large crowd piled into the narrow hall, and Ron shoved his way through it to the center where two first years were involved in what appeared to be a very violent fight.  His cousin, Willa, was lying flat on her back as Indira Patil straddled her and aimed what looked to be a very painful punch right into her stomach.  Another Gryffindor first year, Emily Macon, was standing a little aside from the fight and crying.  Without thinking, he rushed forward and tried to pull Indira away, but she was a lot stronger than she appeared for such a little girl, and she shrugged him off easily.  Things turned worse when Willa started fighting back and landed her fist squarely on Indira's left eye.  

"Indira!"  A female voice that Ron assumed was Padma's screeched over the noise of the crowd, and when Terry and Ernie rushed forward to help Ron break up the fight, he realized that the other Prefects had all apparently arrived.  Even with the three sixth year boys trying to pull the girls off of each other, the cause was useless, as they both seemed quite intent on still beating the shit out of each other.  In the end, it was Padma who broke up the fight.

"Indira Kaya Patil!"

Indira immediately looked up at the use of her full name and seemed to realize for the first time that they had an audience.  With the break in her concentration, Ron found it rather easy to actually lift her off of the other girl and put her in a standing position.  Padma grabbed her chin immediately and bent down to examine the bruise that was now beginning to pop up around her little sister's eye; when she found no serious damage, though, she switched her grasp to Indira's arm and lay into her, threatening her with everything from detention to expulsion to their parents' wrath.  Ron luckily looked up just in time to see Willa standing up and attempting to flee the scene.

"Don't even think about it," he warned seriously as he grabbed her collar and yanked her back.

"She hit me first!"  Willa launched into immediate defense when she realized she was going to get away.

Indira's mouth dropped open, and she turned her attention away from her older sister to launch into her own explanation.  "She called Emily a Mudblood!"

A murmur went through the crowd, and Ron glanced Emily who was now crying even harder.

  
Indira, though, went right on.  "And she said that she ought to go back to the trash she came from!"

Ron felt his fingers clench more tightly around Willa's collar, and he realized that he didn't quite trust himself not to murder his own cousin, so he shoved her forward at Malfoy, who was standing at the front of the crowd with a rather amused look on his face.  "She's yours."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked coolly.  "Because you can deal with her if you want to.  You know, since she is your family."

"She's not in my House."

"Easy to push family responsibilities off onto others, isn't it?"  Malfoy raised his eyebrows in question.

Ron was just about to tell the asshole exactly what he could do with himself when he remembered that there was a crowd of onlookers gathered around.  "Clear off," he barked at them angrily.  The crowd immediately dispersed in several directions, and Terry, Ernie, and Hannah followed them to make sure they got to where they were supposed to be going.  Soon, Ron was left alone in the corridor with only Malfoy- who still looked completely amused, Pansy- who had now taken to running her fingers soothingly through Willa's long hair, Padma- who was still holding Indira by the arm, though not as tightly, and Hermione- who had now dropped to a squatting position in front of Emily and was whispering to her quietly.

"Why would you say something idiotic like that?" Ron demanded, staring his cousin in the eye.

  
Willa stared back at him with her own pair of cool, green eyes and calmly answered.  "Because it's the truth."

"Who told you that?"

"Lots of people are saying it."

"Well, they're wrong," he said firmly.  "Saying that stuff- it's crap, and it's racist, and you should know better."

Willa blinked and still spoke in that same controlled way.  "We don't have the same parents."

"Lucky for you, sweetie," said Pansy primly, still stroking Willa's hair.

Ron ignored her and said, "Yeah, lucky for you because if you were my parents' kid, you'd be suffering from a lot more damages than what Indira gave you right about now."

She said nothing.

Malfoy, however, smirked and addressed Ron.  "Now, are you positive you don't want to deal with her?  Because I'm sure you know much more about her, seeing as how she _is _your own blood."

"She's your responsibility," Hermione said calmly, standing up and speaking for the first time.

Malfoy turned to her and said, "You sure you don't want to _counsel _her?  Well, you'll probably have your hands full enough with that one."  He nodded at Emily.  "After all, you Mudbloods have to stick together these days, you know."

Ron felt the anger boil up inside of him, and without thinking he reached for his wand and aimed it right at Malfoy's pointed little face, trying to decide as quickly as possible which hex would cause the most damage.  Hermione, though, shook her head sharply.  
  


"Don't.  He's not worth it."  She nodded her head at Padma, "Let's go."

Hermione and Padma walked away with Indira and Emily, and after a moment more of glaring, Ron finally put his wand away and hurried after them, leaving Malfoy and Pansy to deal with Willa.  He caught up with the girls and saw that they were whispering in quiet voices.

"Willa's not going to get in trouble," he said knowingly.  "Malfoy'll probably give her a reward for saying what she did."

Hermione shrugged, a sullen expression covering her features.  "We still have to punish Indira."

"That's not fair, is it?"  He looked up a bit to where the younger girls were walking, Indira with her arm protectively around Emily's shoulder.  

"Yes, it is," Padma said with a nod.  "Indi knows not to fight, and she won't learn her lesson if she gets away with it."

"But we can let it slide just once, can't we?"  Ron looked at his fellow Prefects and saw that neither of them seemed to share his sentiment.  "I mean, I know she was fighting, but she had a good reason."

"Fighting's not acceptable no matter what the reason," Hermione said, looking at him with dark eyes.  "And you weren't setting a very good example by trying to hex Malfoy."

"He called you a Mudblood!"

"And he has a thousand times before and he's not going to stop any time soon."  Hermione rolled her eyes.  "You pulling out your wand every time he says something isn't going to solve anything."

"He shouldn't get away with saying things like that!"  Ron couldn't understand why Hermione didn't seem more bothered.

  
She stopped walking, though, and looked at him squarely.  "Ron, it's _my _problem.  Not yours."

He opened his mouth to protest that if someone was being rude to her that it most definitely _was _his problem.  "But-"

"But nothing."  She lowered her voice and looked at him rather pleadingly.  "Just please don't let him get to you.  I'm not afraid of Malfoy."

He nodded rather reluctantly, knowing that she wouldn't take any argument.  "I know you're not."

She halfway smiled at him and then glanced up the hallway to where the first years had gotten a rather good lead on them.  "What do you want to do about Indira?  We should go talk to her."

For some reason, the mention of what they should do caused him to look at his watch and he cursed under his breath.  "I'm supposed to be at Quidditch."  Hermione sighed.  Ron looked up at her apologetically.  "I'm really sorry, but it's important."

"Fine, Ron," she said with a dismissive shrug.  

He felt rotten for bailing out on her, and he leaned down to kiss her quickly on the cheek, not even caring that Padma Patil was standing just a few feet away.  "I'm sorry," he said even more quietly.  "I'll be back as soon as I can, and then we can take care of it.  I promise."

Hermione still looked a bit reluctant but nodded nonetheless.  "Okay."

"I'll see you soon then."

She nodded again.  "Yeah, okay."

He offered her a smile and was grateful when she returned it.  

Without anything more said, he turned away and hurried for the Quidditch pitch, thankful that Hermione didn't hate him for having someone as rotten as Willa related to him.  He was also thankful that Willa was in Slytherin because he couldn't quite see how he would be able to handle her without strangling her if she was his responsibility.

Indira Patil might have been a bit rough around the edges, but at least she knew right from wrong.

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